


In This Twilight How Dare You Speak of Grace

by secondstar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, BAMF!Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Glasses!Stiles, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Licking, M/M, Minor Character Death, Panic Attack, Scent Marking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zombies. Stiles always knew the world would end this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: The tag for minor character death (at this point) is all exposition and happened before the fic starts. The characters who are listed in the tags are the ones who are alive after the infection. At this point I cannot guarantee that all of those characters will survive (this is the zombie apocalypse, after all!).
> 
> Beta'd by lsdme.
> 
> date: please do not REPOST this fic anywhere else without my consent. Please do not put it on GoodReads that is a site for PUBLISHED works, not fic.

Stiles rarely slept anymore. If he thought that he had trouble sleeping before everything went to shit then he was most definitely wrong. Hyperactivity aside, the consistent necessity to remain aware of his surroundings did not help with the sleep deprivation that he was instilling in himself. The thud of his heart beat in his chest was always apparent, the sound of it echoed in his mind as he listened to his own breathing as he walked, his eyes wide as he surveyed his surroundings, the bat in his hand hung at the ready as he gripped it tight. He wasn’t on patrol, but that didn’t mean that he was going to relax. Relaxation was a thing of the past, back when all he had to care about was lacrosse and the fact that Lydia Martin saw right through him. None of that mattered now, in the grand scheme of things. The only thing that mattered right now, that second, was taking a piss without something attacking him. 

Stiles looked up at the waning moon, the faint glow lighting his way as he walked, strolled past a couple sitting huddled together, whispering to each other. Stiles’ heart sank. They reminded him of Scott and Allison. A pang of sorrow hit him, but he pushed it aside. 

“Gotta fucking pee,” he whispered to himself, his eyes cast downwards only until he passed them. As soon as they were behind him, his eyes shot around his periphery. He pushed at his glasses, grumbling under his breath about ‘fucking zombies, fucking assholes, no more fucking contacts, no more fucking pills...’ “And no more fucking running water!” He said a little louder, knowing he wasn’t in earshot of anyone anymore. He did his business, then made his way to a cooler that they kept bottled water in. There was no ice, there hadn’t been ice for a while now, but he didn’t need it. Not when it was getting cold. He opened a bottle, emptying half of it down his throat before he gasped for breath, wiping his mouth with his forearm. He looked at the sleeve of his dirty, ratty red hoodie and scowled. “No more laundry.” 

“What?” Someone asked him. He shook his head apologetically, walking away. He dragged the bat on the ground as he walked, shoving the half empty bottle of water into his pocket. When he came upon his tent, he sighed audibly. 

“You get lost?” A voice rang out from inside the tent. 

“Yes, Derek, I got lost in our own camp.” Derek’s head popped out of the tent, his eyebrow rising at Stiles’ tone. Stiles took the bottle of water out of his pocket and shoved it towards Derek. “Here.” Derek took it without so much as a thank you, which Stiles was used to, and drank it all in one gulp. “Your shift is about to start.” 

“I know,” Derek whispered as he got out of the tent, tossing the bottle into the tent so that they could clean and refill it at some point. He was only half dressed as he stood, his shirt and jacket in his hands as he stretched. Stiles scoffed, dropping the bat to the ground and putting his hands in his pockets. His fingers were numb. “You okay?” He asked. Stiles shrugged. 

“Peachy keen. You know what Mad Eye always said: ‘Constant Vigilance!’ fucker was right of course. Even though it was also Barty Crouch Jr, but I mean-” 

“Stiles,” was all that Derek said. Stiles shut his mouth, nodding his head as he looked around. 

“Go kill me a zombie, Der,” Stiles said, smiling. Derek shook his head, laughing. 

“You get some sleep,” Derek countered. Stiles looked up at the sky, his jaw slack as he looked at the stars. 

“Lydia liked the stars.” Derek sighed, walking past Stiles, towards the outpost. “Derek,” Stiles called out over his shoulder. Derek stopped long enough to put on his leather jacket, shooting Stiles a look. “It’s good, right? That they aren’t in this hell?” Derek didn’t so much as blink at him for a while. 

“It is only hell if you make it that,” Derek whispered. “I’ve got to go, Stiles. We’ll talk about this later.” Stiles nodded, bending over and picking up his bat. “Sleep. Erica has been sleeping for awhile. Make her keep watch.” With that, Derek walked off. Stiles made his way into the two person tent, zipping it up. As soon as Stiles sat, Erica turned on a flashlight so that he could see. 

“You’re up,” Stiles whispered, looking at Allison’s sleeping form. Erica nodded, tossing Stiles the flashlight. 

“I am,” Erica said, her fingers raking gently through Allison’s hair. “Heard your little existential crisis with Derek.” Stiles scoffed, looking down at his hands, then at Allison. 

“How is she?” He asked, his voice scratchy as he swallowed. Erica shook her head. Stiles rubbed at his eyes, his fingers pushing beneath the frames of his glasses as he pushed back his feelings, thoughts and emotions threatening to tumble out of him whenever he thought about Scott. It had only been two days, but it felt like a lifetime without him. 

“You should sleep,” Erica offered. Stiles shook his head, biting his lower lip. 

“Not happening.”

“Do I need to knock you out?” 

“Probably,” Stiles countered as he slunk down his hand resting on Allison’s back, his fingers running slow circles against her blanket. 

Stiles woke up to the sound of footsteps nearing their tent. He shifted slightly, trying to sit up but Derek’s arm over his stomach stopped his movement. 

“It’s Argent,” Derek murmured against Stiles’ neck, his eyes remaining closed. Stiles relaxed, but only slightly. Derek was curled up next to him, their legs tangled, spooning him as Stiles’ arm hung around Allison, who was turned towards Erica. Stiles pulled on his hand to find that Erica was holding it, their fingers intertwined. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes briefly, enjoying the closeness, the warmth, the feeling of pack. 

“Rise and shine,” Chris Argent said, opening the zipper of the tent. Derek grunted. The sun was just rising, and dew covered the ground and tents surrounding them. “It’s breakfast then we are setting off so stow your shit.” Chris walked off, telling the next tent the same. Derek was the first to stir, despite having had a patrol for most of the night. 

“Kill anything for me?” Stiles joked, pulling his hand away from Erica. Derek shook his head, sighing. 

“It was quiet.”

“Good,” Erica mumbled as she too sat up. Allison was awake, Stiles knew, but she wasn’t moving just yet. Stiles put his hand on her head, his fingers massaging for a second. 

“Hey, let’s go get some breakfast. It is Derek’s turn to pack up the tent.” Derek grunted, but said nothing as he climbed out of the small tent that was made for only two people. Packing four people into it was hard, but Stiles and Allison were grateful of the body heat of Erica and Derek in the cool nights. Allison sat up and crawled out of the tent without a word. Stiles, giving a look to Derek, followed her, his bat in hand. They were handed four granola bars, all oatmeal raisin. Stiles made a face, knowing that Erica didn’t care for that flavor. 

“Is there any-” 

“No,” the ‘cook’ said, their face stern. Stiles pocketed the bars for Derek and Erica, nodding once. Allison already opened hers, nibbling at it. Stiles glanced at her sideways as they walked towards his Jeep. 

“Do you need to do....” Stiles made odd hand motions. “Anything?” Allison shrugged. “Because I’m not stopping once we get going.” 

“Okay, mom,” Allison murmured and Stiles thought, for a second, that he saw her smile. The corner of Stiles’ mouth turned upwards as he leaned against his Jeep, ripping open his breakfast. An uncomfortable silence filled the space between them, both of them obviously thinking about Scott. About the zombie that got him. Stiles cleared his throat, pushing the memory of Scott saving his life away. Because Stiles was the reason that Scott was no longer with them. Sighing, Stiles pushed off of his Jeep and opened the trunk, rummaging through his duffel bag. Flashlight, batteries, a mostly empty pill bottle, a pair of jeans he was saving for when his became unwearable, and his dad’s uniform jacket. Stiles stilled, his fingers rubbing over the lettering. His jaw set, he shoved it to the side as he grabbed a different pill bottle, shaking it absentmindedly. “Fuck it,” he whispered, tossing it back into the bag. He only had two Adderall left. 

“Take them,” Allison whispered, making Stiles jump, his hand over his heart, the bat ready to swing. “Derek said yesterday that we are near a town, that we would be stopping for supplies.” 

Stiles grabbed the bottle, dry swallowing one of them. The last two places they stopped didn’t have any. The chances of the pharmacy having any was slim to none, but Stiles took it anyways. Chris Argent walked up, putting his hand on Allison’s shoulder, squeezing it affectionately. Allison curled into him, her arms wrapping around his waist. Stiles shut his eyes, wishing he could do the same to his dad. He was living in hell. 

Stiles didn’t have much room in his Jeep, just enough room for he and Derek, sometimes Erica. The caravan that they drove in had about ten vehicles in it, most were bigger, had room for more people. Stiles’ Jeep was used as a scout. He and Derek drove ahead, talking via walkie talkies with the rest as they drove. As soon as Derek packed the tent, they were off. Chris pointed on a map to Derek where they were headed. Stiles didn’t pay any attention, because that was Derek’s job. The one day that Derek put Stiles on map duty, Stiles flipped out because he got them lost. Stiles was the driver, end of. 

The radio was long since dead and static was depressing, so Stiles fell back to talking, or humming whatever he could think of. Lately, he was singing a lot of old school Linkin Park, because screaming the lyrics to Papercut made him feel better. Derek let him, most of the time he bobbed his head along to the imaginary music, letting Stiles know that he knew the song that he was bastardizing. A couple of times, he even got Derek to sing the music. That had been a good day, because that was the day they had found some survivors hitch hiking. Now, though, Derek was silent. 

“I’m about to break,” Stiles whispered. Derek looked up from the map, his eyebrows knit tight. Stiles looked at him weird, side eyeing him. “What? It is a lyric. Closer. I know you like that one, don’t lie to me, sourwolf.” Derek sighed. 

“You want me to scream it like he does? Or do you want me to mumble it under my breath?” Stiles asked. 

“Mumble it, please.” Stiles couldn’t help but grin at Derek’s tone, like he had no choice but to listen to Stiles’ singing. “It is way too early to be screaming Linkin Park.” 

“How about... Teenage Dirtbag?” Stiles asked. “Her name is Noel-” 

“Stiles.”

“I have a dream about her-”

“Don’t-”

“She rings my bell!” Stiles sang, getting louder. “I’ve got gym class in half an hour, oh how she rocks in keds and tube socks...” Stiles trailed off for a second, looking at Derek who was looking out the window. “But she doesn’t know who I am, she doesn’t give a damn about me- come on Derek.” Derek rolled his eyes, but smiled. 

“Cause I’m just a teenage dirtbag baby,” they belted out at the top of their lungs. “Yeah I’m just a teenage dirtbag baby, so listen to Iron Maiden maybe with me.” 

It was almost lunch when they reached the so called town. It was seemingly abandoned and as they got out of the Jeep, Stiles looked around, the walkie talkie up to his mouth, his bat in his free hand. 

“We just arrived to the destination, we’re going to have a look around. We’ll let you know before you get in.” The caravan was usually a good ten minutes behind them, just enough time to canvass the area. 

“Ten-Four,” Chris’s voice came in. Stiles clipped the walkie talkie to his jeans, then held onto the bat with both hands as he walked two steps behind Derek. 

“Smell anything?” 

“Death,” Derek said, looking at Stiles for a second before continuing on. Stiles scrunched up his nose, trying to smell anything odd. Nothing. 

“Pharmacy!” Stiles called out, his eyes landing on a large Rx sign. “Mine, mine, mine,” he muttered, pulling Derek by his jacket towards it. 

“Stiles we have to scout first,” Derek grumbled, yanking his arm away. Stiles looked around. 

“I don’t see any flesh munchers, do you?” He asked, swinging the bat around with flaily arms. “And you’re creepy hearing could catch them moaning from around the corner. I’m going in,” Stiles said, going up to the door to find it locked. He jiggled the handle for a second then grit his teeth. He bashed the glass door with his bat. 

“Stiles!” Derek hissed as Stiles cleared the shattered glass on the door enough to get through it alright. 

“Derek!” Stiles called back, his voice mimicking Derek’s with sarcasm as he made his way inside. “Shit,” Stiles whispered to himself, grabbing the walkie talkie from his hip as he watched Derek join him in the fully stocked pharmacy. 

“This is Venom calling Deathstar do you copy?” 

“Copy,” Chris Argent said over the walkie to Stiles. “We’ve hit the motherload here. The pharmacy hasn’t been touched,” Stiles said, in awe. He walked over to the candy aisle, grabbing a Reese’s Cup and showing it to Derek, his eyes wide. “I am talking the fucking motherload here.” 

“Calm down, Stiles. We’ll stock up once we reach town.”

“Copy that,” Stiles whispered, stowing the walkie talkie back where it belonged, his bat leaning against the stand so that he could open the candy. “Oh, fucking Jesus Christ almighty-” Stiles mumbled as he opened the package, shoving an entire cup into his mouth, his eyes rolling back. “Oh my god, Derek,” he moaned. “This is fucking heaven.” Derek snorted while grabbing a Milkyway. “Derek I need to fill my duffel bag with these. These are mine,” Stiles said as he put Reese’s into his pockets, his second cup hanging between his teeth as he did so. 

“Finder’s keepers,” Derek said, smiling. Stiles practically bounced his way back to the pharmacy counter, then rolled over the top of it, searching the medicine. “Oh fuck, they have antibiotics, all those fucking things I can’t pronounce and/or spell. Hey, bring me one of those pill book things. We need to- Oh shit fucking oh my god I can’t believe how much Adderall they have back here.” 

Derek walked back towards the front of the shop, but stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Stiles-”

“Do you know which medicine would be good for post traumatic stress? I think Allison needs-”

“Stiles, get down.” Derek called out. Instead of doing what Derek asked, Stiles popped his head out from behind a shelf to see what Derek was on about. 

“Mother fuck-” Stiles said as he rolled to the ground. There were zombies. Three of them. “Shit fuck, pieces of-” Stiles grabbed the walkie talkie. 

“Deathstar this is Venom, code T-virus spotted, how copy?” 

“Copy. How many?” 

“Three,” Stiles whispered. “Send back up only.” Stiles said as he put the walkie away, then stood up. His bat was by the candy, still. He jumped over the counter, and ran. Derek was in full alpha form, with one of the Zombies already down. Stiles slid down the aisle, grabbing hold of his bat as Derek howled. 

“Yeah, shut up, Derek,” Stiles yelled as he ran at it, swinging the bat as hard as he could. He heard a resounding crack of the Zombie’s skull as it caved in. It fell and Stiles beat it again, then again. Before he knew it, Derek was by his legs, pushing against him, corralling him away from the body. Derek was growling at the last zombie, his fur standing on edge. Stiles knew that, when Derek was the wolf, that he couldn’t contract the virus, or whatever it was that was turning people into zombies. Stiles knew that, as long as Derek stayed the wolf, that he would be okay. It didn’t save Boyd, though, or Isaac. It wouldn’t save Erica. They found that out the hard way. 

So now, Derek was pushing Stiles away from the danger, he was protecting him even though Stiles knew he could kill it. Stiles lifted the bat, ready to beat the undead shit out of it when Derek pounced, his fangs bared. Stiles ran forward too, following Derek’s lead. As soon as Derek had the zombie on the ground. Stiles slammed his bat down on its head, blood splattering everywhere. As soon as Stiles dropped the bat, falling to his knees, Chris came bursting in, armed and ready. Stiles looked up at him, his heart beating fast, the adrenaline rush coursing through his body. Derek was leaning against him, sitting on his haunches, licking his face, licking the- 

“Derek, stop,” Stiles whispered, pushing his muzzle away. Derek snorted, his nose pressing against Stiles’ neck. Stiles closed his eyes. “Didn’t need backup,” he said, sighing. 

“We need to raid this place as fast as possible. It’s not safe.” 

“You’re right.” 

“Saw a gas station, we are going to see how much it has.” 

“Alright,” Stiles whispered, his fingers raking through Derek’s fur. 

“You need gatorade, if they’ve got it.” Stiles nodded, his eyes looking only at Derek as Chris walked off in search of gasoline. Stiles heard others coming in, no one mentioned the three dead zombies, or the fact that Stiles was sitting in the middle of it. Stiles tightened his grip on Derek’s fur, tugging it slightly. 

“Hey, fuckface-” Stiles started, getting Derek’s attention. He had been watching everyone file in slowly with bags to fill up and gather everything with. Derek licked Stiles’ face once more, letting him know he was paying attention. “Don’t fucking push me away from a zombie again.” Stiles pushed at Derek, getting up. Derek snorted angrily, following Stiles around as he picked up Derek’s clothes off the ground and shouldered them, then walked to the drink aisle and grabbed a couple of gatorades. “Der, go change back,” Stiles said as he draped Derek’s clothes over his back, then opened one of the bottles. “Oh my god, Glacier Freeze,” Stiles mumbled halfway through a gulp. It wasn’t cold, no power, but it tasted amazing. Derek stalked off, and Stiles went about grabbing his Adderall. He took all of it, after grabbing a basket to put things in. He walked around, pocketing things like aspirin, bandages, neosporin, condoms, lube. They were taking almost all the food, it seemed, the bottled water along with the vitamin water and gatorade. Nothing that didn’t taste good lukewarm. Derek reappeared, standing by Stiles’ side once more, looking in his basket. 

“Lube?” Derek asked, picking it up, looking at it. Stiles bit his lip, nodding. 

“Yeah, you know. It’s important,” He snapped, grabbing it from Derek. “I’ve got needs.” Derek snorted, walking away. Stiles rolled his eyes and walked out to the Jeep, stowing everything away. Derek was behind him again, never straying too far. “Hey, assmunch, go get us some gas. Chris said he was found a station that might have gas.” Stiles tossed Derek their empty gas container. Derek’s jaw clenched. 

“Assmunch, Stiles?” Derek asked. Stiles lifted an eyebrow. 

“Honey? Sweetums? Dearest? Assmunch suits you better.” 

Once they were back on the road, with a full tank of gas and all the Reese’s cups that Stiles could eat, Stiles was silent. 

“Stiles,” Derek spoke up after almost an hour of complete quiet. Stiles didn’t answer him, just lifted an eyebrow slightly. Derek’s hand reached over, resting on Stiles’ thigh. Stiles relaxed, dropping a hand on top of Derek’s, their fingers slowly intertwining. “You have got to stay down when I say stay down.” Stiles rumbled with anger. 

“I am not a damsel,” Stiles almost shouted. “Scott-”

“This isn’t about Scott, or Isaac, or Boyd. Or hell, even Jackson. It isn’t about your dad, either.” Stiles tensed, his lips pursed together. “This is about you surviving this.” Stiles sighed, deeply. “You didn’t need to-”

“Yes, I did,” Stiles said, resolutely. “I fucking needed to kill a zombie, alright?” Stiles looked at Derek, his hand gripping Derek’s tight. “I needed to kill it.” 

“And you did,” Derek whispered. Stiles let go of Derek’s hand, looking at the horizon. 

“Are we in fucking Idaho yet?” Stiles asked, strumming his fingers against the steering wheel. 

“Almost,” Derek whispered. “We have to make camp soon, before the sun sets.” Stiles nodded, letting out a breath slowly. 

“I am so sick of Nevada.” 

“I know,” Derek supplied. Stiles looked down where Derek’s hand still rest in his lap, and licked his lips. His hand fell once more, clasping Derek’s hand in his, squeezing it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the change in Rating from Teen to Explicit, for sexual content.

When they found a place to stay, they waited to make camp when the rest showed up. They circled the vehicles around them, closer in than they had been the previous night. They had made their camp bigger, then, because they had stayed there longer. This was for only one night, there was no need to make room. 

“On duty tonight is Me, Erica, Sam, Greg, Ben, and...” Chris looked around, his eyes falling on Stiles. “Allison.” Stiles stepped forward, his body almost flailing. He knew he was supposed to be on duty, it was his turn. Derek’s hand on his chest stopped him. 

“Don’t,” Derek hissed. Stiles pushed his hand away and walked up to Chris. 

“What the fuck, Chris?” Stiles asked, eye level with him. “It isn’t Allison’s turn. It’s mine.”

“And you took hers the other night,” Chris said, which was true. “She needs to keep busy, Stiles.”

“So do I!” Stiles yelled. “I need to keep busy, too. He was my best friend-” Derek’s hands were on Stiles, pulling him back two steps, getting Stiles out of Chris’ face. 

“Get some rest, Stiles,” Chris said, looking to Derek. Stiles pushed at Derek, shoving his hands off of him. 

“Don’t,” Stiles hissed, running his fingers through his hair that was sticking up every which way. It had grown, since the infection spread. He tugged at it absentmindedly, glaring at Derek as he paced. “You asked him, didn’t you? About the watch.”

“No,” Derek said, shaking his head only once. “I didn’t.” Derek took a step towards him, but Stiles held his hand up, his face contorting. 

“I’m fine, don’t smother me or I’ll punch you.” Derek lifted an eyebrow, then walked away. Stiles dropped his hand, clenching it as he kicked at the dirt surrounding him. Stiles hunched over, crouching close to the ground, hanging his head between his shoulders, his hands running through his hair. Stiles stayed there, breathing, for a while, or until he heard someone call his name. He looked up to see Allison there, holding a bottle of water and a cliff bar. 

“For you,” she whispered. Stiles stood, taking them with a nod of his head. “We both miss him.” Stiles gulped, unable to look at her. 

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice cracking just ever so slightly. Allison looked away from him, her arms hugging her torso. There were tears in her eyes. 

“You know, it isn’t your fault.” Stiles looked at the ground, shaking his head. “It wasn’t your fault, and we both know it.” 

“I just can’t believe he’s-” Stiles stopped, swallowing his words. He hadn’t been the one to kill Scott, Allison had. Allison shot him in the head with an arrow the second he turned. “Thank you, though, I didn’t- I didn’t say that before now.” Allison shrugged, sniffling. 

“I wasn’t about to let you die after he had just saved you.” Stiles nodded, licking his lips as he opened the bottle of water, looking around, his eyes finding Derek, who was getting their tent ready. “Get some rest, Stiles. I know you have barely slept since this whole thing started.” 

“Who needs REM cycles anyways?” Stiles joked. Allison tilted her head, smiling warmly at him. It was a small smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. Sometimes a little humor went a long way. Stiles took his cliff bar and left her there, walking towards their tent slowly. Derek was standing there, chewing on the last of his dinner, watching him approach. “Cliff bars make me gag,” Stiles said handing his to Derek. Derek said nothing, but pocketed it as Stiles climbed into the tent. The sleeping bags were rolled out, spread wide so that four people could use them, to pad the hard ground just a little bit. “I want a hammock,” Stiles said as he laid down, his hands wringing together. Derek joined him, but only sat. “Hammocks would be awesome. I could cocoon and swing and oh, we could put them up high at night and zombies couldn’t get us-”

“We’d be sitting ducks.” Stiles made a face at Derek’s shooting down of his idea. “We need to talk-”

“Nope,” Stiles rang out, popping the ‘p’ with his lips, his hand reaching out for Derek’s, staring at it as their fingers linked. “Let’s avoid the nightmare, shall we? Just two seconds of peace.” Derek sighed. “Come on Mr. Grumpy Gills,” Stiles mused, swinging his hand back and forth, dragging Derek’s along with it. “Make out with me.” Derek snorted. 

“That is definitely avoiding the issue.”

“We have issues? Really? In a zombie apocalypse?!” Stiles sat up, his eyes wide as if he hadn’t realized he was in the middle of a war with the undead. Derek bristled. Stiles reached his free hand out, dragging his nails gently down Derek’s cheek. “I wish I could grow a beard.” Derek cracked a smile. “No, really. It would be bad ass. I would be the biggest hipster with my tight jeans and a beard and glasses. All I own are plaid shirts.-” 

Derek cut Stiles off by kissing him, pulling their linked fingers close to him, urging Stiles to come forward. Stiles moved, straddling Derek’s lap with ease as his hands cupped Derek’s face. 

“You can’t shut me up,” Stiles said between kisses as Derek’s hands roamed his body, his mouth leaving Stiles’ to venture to his neck, his nose nuzzling him, scenting him. “Scent marking? Now?” Stiles asked, his brow furrowed. “I just want a jack, come on!” Stiles knew that Derek would take forever, going over his entire body, and he didn’t have the stamina anymore to do that. Before... everything, he had let Derek go to town, the slow build to sex. Scent marking, marking, preparation, then sex. It was agonizingly explosive. But now, in a tent, during the apocalypse, Stiles just wanted Derek’s hand around his dick. They had barely touched each other, barely been alone. Erica was always there, or Allison, or Scott. Stiles’ breath hitched in his throat, a dry sob escaped his lips and Derek stopped, his hands moving up to cup Stiles’ face, his thumb running across Stiles’ chapped lips. 

“I want you to smell like me, I want normalcy and this is all I can think of-” 

“Okay, yeah. Normalcy,” Stiles whispered. Derek smiled, his lips pressed against Stiles’ neck. Derek tugged at Stiles’ hoodie, his shirt, removing them. As soon as they were discarded, Derek licked at Stiles’ collarbone. Stiles moaned, then covered his own mouth, his eyes wide. “Your tongue is going to get us caught,” Stiles hissed, then grunted as Derek tweaked a nipple playfully. Stiles reacted by grinding his hips downwards onto Derek’s lap, against his erection. “Such an asshole,” Stiles said affectionately, tugging lightly on Derek’s hair. Derek growled as he bucked upwards, panting against Stiles’ flesh. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” Derek whispered, his teeth nipping at Stiles’ skin. Stiles yelped, shuddering, his eyelids heavy. 

“Yeah, after my tongue bath- Eep!” Stiles was caught off guard as Derek shifted them, pinning him to the ground. Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, squeezing them tight, the palms of his hands splayed across Derek’s broad chest. “Showing your dominance there, Der?” Stiles asked, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. Derek chose to ignore Stiles’ comments, instead choosing to lean down and nuzzle his nose at the base of Stiles’ neck. Stiles sighed, his hands trailing up Derek’s chest, one raking through Derek’s hair as the other circled back around, cupping Derek over his jeans. Derek’s teeth grazed over Stiles’ skin, causing him to bite back a moan, his back arching slightly as his grip on Derek’s hair tightened. “Come on, Derek,” he growled, applying pressure to Derek’s erections, rubbing at it through the fabric. Derek grabbed Stiles’ wrists, pinning them above his head, making Stiles laugh, licking his lips. “Yeah, show me what you got, alpha.” Derek growled deep in his chest, resonating, reverberating through Stiles’ bones. He moaned, his hips rolling upwards, wanting more contact. 

“Do you have any idea what you look like?” Derek asked, one hand still pinning Stiles to the ground while the other trailed lightly down Stiles’ chest, towards his happy trail. Stiles flexed his muscles, fighting against Derek’s grip even though he knew it was for naught. He didn’t want to be freed, not in the slightest. 

“Like a guy who wants to get off?” He asked, tilting his head to the side, his mouth open. “Like I just got tongue bathed?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “Like I really, really need you to touch my dick before I get cranky.” 

“You’re already cranky,” Derek said, his palm flat against Stiles’ stomach, his fingers teasing Stiles’ hair at the hem of his jeans, the tips of Derek’s fingers barely touching his boxer briefs, hinting at slipping beneath the fabric. Stiles groaned. 

“Fuck yes, I am cranky. If you don’t touch me soon-” Stiles only shut up because Derek’s lips covered his in a sexually charged kiss, his hand dipping beneath the fabric of Stiles’ jeans and briefs. Stiles gasped against Derek’s mouth, his hands no longer pinned down, wrapped around Derek’s neck, keeping him close. After a while, Stiles rid himself of his jeans, pushing them down his thighs enough to free himself, Derek’s hand working him, jacking him off. Stiles panted, holding himself up by his elbows as he watched Derek’s hand, watched his cock disappear then reappear as Derek stroked him. Stiles’ head fell back, his eyes closing. “Fucking, hell, I just need you. I just...” Stiles trailed off, losing his train of thought as Derek’s hand left him. Stiles’ hand immediately replaced Derek’s, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as his other hand cupped his own balls, tugging on them just the way he liked. Derek was digging through Stiles’ bag, finding the lube. “Fuck yes, lube, give me the lube-”

“Nope, this is me. I am doing it,” Derek said, pulling Stiles’ jeans the rest of the way off. Stiles grunted. Stiles knew that Derek liked watching him stretch himself, but apparently today was not one of Derek’s voyeuristic days. He wanted to be hands on. Stiles continued to jack himself off as Derek opened the lube, spreading some onto his fingers, rubbing them, warming it. 

“Aww so fucking romantic, I swear to god-” Stiles started, but stopped as Derek pulled him closer, spreading his legs, pushing them into the air. Stiles let go of himself to hold onto his own thighs. “So romantic,” he whispered again. Derek scoffed, shaking his head slightly, the corner of his mouth turned upwards as he pressed a slick finger inwards. Stiles nodded his head repeatedly. “Yep, you’re the best.” 

“Stiles, we talked about your dirty talk,” Derek said, laughing. Stiles made a face, his jaw slack, his hips rolling against Derek’s finger. 

“Shutting up,” Stiles said, replacing his words with stifled moans as Derek added another finger, stretching him open. Stiles hissed, his fingernails digging into his own skin. “More, Derek. More lube,” Stiles panted. Derek obliged. Usually they took their time. Well, before the world went to hell, they took their time with either Derek’s mouth opening Stiles up or Derek watching Stiles ready himself. This was new, rushed, frenzied. Stiles sighed as Derek’s newly slicked fingers reentered him. “Okay, now the third.” Derek raised his eyebrows but did as Stiles asked, stretching Stiles with three fingers, fucking him with them, slowly picking up speed. “So ready, just - I’m ready,” Stiles blurted out. Derek retracted his fingers, causing Stiles to whimper. 

“Flip over,” Derek said as he rummaged through the duffel bag for a condom. Stiles started to do as Derek asked, but stopped. 

“Dude, Erica will _kill us_ if-” Derek tossed a towel from the bag at Stiles’ face. “Good enough,” Stiles said as he laid it down over the sleeping bag, then laid down on his stomach. Stiles sighed as he heard the distinct sound of the condom wrapper being ripped, of Derek jacking himself a couple of times once it was rolled on. When Derek entered him, Stiles slid forward a few inches, then pushed back. Stiles gasped, his head banging against the ground. “Fuck, that feels so fucking good you have no idea.” Derek grunted, holding onto Stiles’ hips as he began thrusting in and out, the sound of skin against skin filling the tent, along with Stiles’ stilted, ever present noises that tumbled out of him every time Derek slammed into him. Derek pressed Stiles against the ground, sliding his body on top of Stiles’ his arms slipping underneath his chest. Stiles raked his teeth across Derek’s forearm as he fucked into him, his feet hooking around Stiles’ ankles to get a better angle, rocking into him slow and hard. Stiles bit down on Derek’s arm to keep from screaming out at the pressure, at feeling of Derek pounding against his prostate. Derek’s hand clasped around Stiles’ mouth, his lips against Stiles’ ear. 

“Come on, Stiles, let go, you need to,” he whispered, nipping at his ear before picking up his pace. Stiles moaned into Derek’s hand, his eyes fluttering closed. A litany of indiscernible noises escaped from Stiles’ lips, muffled by Derek’s hand. “Come for me,” he gasped then grunted, unable to hold back his own climax. Stiles, his chest heaving, body covered in sweat, shuddered beneath Derek. Derek’s nostrils flared as he pulled out, rolling Stiles onto his back. Bending over, Derek licked at the mess smeared across Stiles’ stomach, lapping at it, his hands sliding up and down Stiles’ thighs and lower stomach until he was satisfied. Stiles’s fingers were in Derek’s hair, unmoving, his head tilted to one side as he watched Derek bathe him once more. 

“I don’t remember the last time I showered,” Stiles whispered. Derek snorted. “Does this count?” 

“No,” Derek mused as he pulled away long enough to yank the towel out from underneath Stiles, then rid himself of his condom, tying it off, using the towel to wipe himself down. “We need to wash up tomorrow, though.” 

“Not now?” Stiles asked, his voice fading, his head lulling to one side. 

“Do you want to move?” Derek asked, shoving Stiles’ leg out of his way so he could curl up next to him. Stiles mumbled, his head shaking ever so slightly. “Didn’t think so.” 

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, his face burying itself against Stiles’ neck, his eyes closing. He fell asleep to the sound of Stiles’ beating heart, the steady rise and fall of his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles woke up in the middle of the night, bolting upright, his chest heaving, body covered in sweat. Remnants from his dream were drifting around in his mind as he wiped a hand over his face, looking down at Derek who was stirring, waking because Stiles had. Stiles steadied his breathing, fumbling around for his jeans and t-shirt. He pulled them on, grabbed his shoes and hoodie, then climbed out of the tent. He walked to the medical supplies, where they kept the wet wipes. He needed a bath, he felt disgusting. He stripped down to his jeans and gave himself a bath with them, wishing for a hot shower. He could see his breath in the air, his body covered in goosebumps from the cold. He grabbed one more wipe and scrubbed his face, his teeth chattering as he did one last swipe over his arms. He pulled back on his shirt, then his hoodie. He wanted coffee, or tea, or hot chocolate. “God damn, I would kill for hot chocolate,” he whispered to himself, running his fingers through his hair, grunting. 

The camp was quiet, except for those walking the perimeter, on watch. Stiles made his way to Chris Argent, whose eyes narrowed at him as he approached. 

“Not on duty, Stilinski,” Chris reminded him. Stiles shrugged. 

“I’m up, give me a sector.” Stiles clenched his jaw, glaring at Chris as if daring him to send him back to the tent. Chris sighed audibly.

“Go grab a gun, then.” Stiles smiled, relieved that he would have something to do, something to keep him from thinking about everything. The guns were kept in Chris’ car, in cases. Stiles grabbed one, checking to see if it was loaded, grabbing extra ammo and shoving it into his hoodie’s pockets before making his way back to Chris. Stiles saw Derek walking towards him, but kept walking to Chris anyways. Derek was shirtless, his jeans riding low on his hips, barefoot. Stiles bit his lip as he cleared his throat to get Chris’ attention once more. Chris looked past Stiles, at Derek, and raised his eyebrows. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice the opposite of amused, a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles shrugged him off, turning towards him. 

“I can’t sleep anymore, I want to be on lookout,” Stiles said firmly, gripping the gun tight. Derek’s nostrils flared as he breathed in. Chris looked at his watch. 

“Dawn is only two hours away. That might have been the longest you’ve slept in a while actually,” Chris mused. He looked to Derek. “I haven’t slept in two days, maybe you two could take over my sector for me? Let me get some shut eye.” Derek nodded. 

“We can do that, no use in running yourself to the ground.” Chris handed his gun to Derek, clapping him on the shoulder before he headed to his car, tilting the front seat back enough that he was semi comfortable, able to pass out. Stiles sighed, shaking his head as he looked out in front of him. 

“You are shirtless, Derek.” 

“I...” Derek began but shook his head, dismissing something, clearing his throat before he continued. “I was worried when I woke up and you weren’t there.” Stiles looked to the ground, biting his lip. “I had to find you.”

“I was fine, I... I took a wet wipe bath.” 

“I can smell that,” Derek said, his hand clasping the back of Stiles’ neck, his thumb rubbing against his skin. Stiles swallowed, nodding. “I hate the smell of those things.” 

“You can rub up against me later, I just felt... I feel disgusting.” 

“Well, hopefully Idaho has a river or lake... or a pump for water.” 

“I’d love a pump, like those old fashioned ones where you have to use the handle and push it until the water comes out? We need those.” Derek smiled. “Or a river. Living on recycled bottles of water after the water is boiled is like...” Stiles sighed. “Tiring.” 

“Exhausting,” Derek added, nodding his head. Stiles looked down at Derek’s feet, his toes curling against the cool ground. 

“Do me a favor and go get dressed. Werewolf or not, you are just going to get your feet really dirty and get it in the sleeping bags and then Erica will get pissed and then we’ll fight and I really, really don’t like when our puppy pile is pissed off.”

“Puppy pile?” Derek asked, his eyebrows raised. Stiles grinned. 

“Were pile? Snuggle fest? Snuffling extravaganza?-”

“I’ll be back,” Derek grumbled, walking away from Stiles. 

“Nuzzle-palooza!” Stiles said, knowing that Derek could still hear him. Derek shook his head as he walked towards the tent, snorting a bit to himself at Stiles’ chatter. By the time Derek returned, fully clothed, Stiles had started walking back and forth through his area, keeping close to the circle of cars but not too close, so that if zombies attacked they would have time to warn others. Derek approached, handing Stiles a walkie talkie. 

“Got this from Chris,” he said as Stiles clipped it to his jeans. Stiles liked holding the walkie talkie, it made him feel important. He also liked talking over it. 

“Thanks, was wondering how we would communicate, hadn’t thought to get it from him before.” They fell into a comfortable silence after that, patrolling together, even though with Derek they didn’t really need to since he could tell when Zombies were near, because of their stench. Derek knew though, that Stiles didn’t like standing still. 

“Derek-” Stiles started, but stopped. 

“What?” Derek asked, frowning. Stiles was emitting mixed signals, worry, strife, anger, loathing. It was a jumble and it put Derek on edge. Stiles swallowed, averting Derek’s gaze, his hand scratching at the back of his own neck. 

“What are we doing?” Stiles asked. “Why did we leave Beacon Hills? Why are we driving to fucking Idaho, of all places.”

“We are going to Wyoming, Stiles,” Derek said, his voice calm. “And we are going because Chris says-”

“Chris says that he had contact with a group of hunters. Hunters, Derek. You’re a werewolf, so is Erica.” Derek clenched his jaw. “Why would you walk into that?”

“Because it will be safest for you,” Derek whispered. Stiles scoffed and Derek’s eyes narrowed. “I am serious. Erica and I can’t... protect you forever.” 

“That is such bullshit, I can’t even begin to-”

“It’s not,” Derek said, cutting Stiles off. “At first, when we left, we were almost a full pack. We had Scott and Isaac still, and Jackson...” both of them quieted for a moment, thinking about how many friends they lost. “I thought at first, that we would be okay with just the pack, but then Allison wouldn’t leave her father and Scott wouldn’t leave her and you.....” Derek sighed, looking away from Stiles. Stiles bit his lip. 

“I wouldn’t leave Scott.” 

“Exactly.” 

“So you are saying that I made the decision for you?” Stiles asked. “That if... Scott, if I hadn’t wanted to stay with Scott the pack would have gone off alone?” 

“I’m not saying it is on your shoulders, Stiles. It is on mine. It was my decision, I’m the alpha and I decided not to split the pack. It is my fault that it was the wrong decision.” 

“How can you know that?” Stiles asked. “How can you know that it was the wrong decision? Maybe if we went at it alone, we’d all be dead. Maybe Erica and I would be dead, what if you died?” Stiles’ voice cracked. “Either way, we’re fucked. Everyone is.”

“I think if we find this group of hunters in the woods of Wyoming, that we will be set.” 

“I think they’re dead,” Stiles murmured. “I think we are going to get there and it will either be like 28 Days Later where they are militant bastards who want to breed the women or that we will get there and it will be a ghost town, just like every other town we’ve come across.” Stiles swallowed his pessimism, shuffling his foot against the dirt of the ground. 

“We don’t know that.”

“How about if they get one look at you and shoot you point blank?” Stiles asked. “I will kill all of them if they do that.” 

“Stiles-”

“I’m not joking.”

“I know you’re not, but you can’t go in there thinking that I am going to die.” 

“How can you be so calm about this?” 

“Because I trust Chris-”

Stiles laughed, shaking his head. 

“He did a lot for us, for the pack, after-”

“After his dad kidnapped me?” Stiles asked. “Yeah, I know. I was there. But you can’t just... you need to be more- argh” Stiles pulled at his hair. “I just- can’t we... fucking leave? Can’t we just-”

“You don’t think bigger numbers are better?” Derek asked, tilting his head. 

“I feel like if we were attacked right now we’d be fucked. We are sitting ducks, here.” 

“What do you suggest?”

“We have to decide,” Stiles said, licking his lips. “Seriously decide if we want to spend the rest of our lives with these people, however short of a period of time that is.” 

“I’m with you, Stiles, you know that.” Stiles’ shoulders sank at Derek’s words. “Erica is pack.” 

“Allison, with Scott dead...” 

“I doubt she would leave her father, and Chris is leading these people to Wyoming.” 

“What if... we go as far as Wyoming. We tell Allison that we plan on leaving once we get there. That would give her time to decide.” Derek nodded. 

“Alright.”

“Maybe they’ll have supplies to spare.”

“We can start gathering things for ourselves, if you want.” Stiles nodded at Derek’s suggestion. 

“I like that idea. I just... I want an out. I want to know there are options.” 

“There are always options, Stiles.” 

They packed up at dawn, everyone wanting to get a head start to the day. Erica and Allison helped put away the supplies, the tent, and Stiles broke the news to them. Erica immediately said she was up for whatever, that it didn’t matter where they were, or who they were with. Allison, though, looked torn, just as Stiles had suspected she would be. 

“I have to think about it, Stiles.” 

“We know, that is why we are telling you now.” 

“I appreciate that,” she whispered. “I just can’t see myself leaving my dad, you know?”   
“I know.”

Stiles hummed as he drove, his head bobbing along to the music in his head. Derek was looking at the map, seeing how far to Wyoming was, what the best route was to get there. 

“You know, after all those zombie movies where all the roads were packed and you could barely drive... we haven’t met much traffic,” Stiles mused, his fingers strumming against the steering wheel absent mindedly. 

“Hmm,” Derek murmured as he stared down at the map. 

“Do you think it is because it spread so fast? I mean, I barely knew what the fuck was going on. It wasn’t like there was much time before shit went down, before we knew we were fucking schwacked.” 

“Hmph,” Derek said, his head bobbing a bit. 

“Hey, asswipe,” Stiles said, smacking Derek’s chest. Derek jumped a bit, his eyebrows raised. “Legit questions here, dude. Pay attention.”

“No cars in road, things happened too fast, yeah. I agree with you.” Stiles made a face. 

“What? Do you want me to not agree with you?” Stiles side eyed Derek, then stared ahead. “How about we talk about how this trip would have taken just around fourteen hours under normal circumstances but we are almost a week and a half into this journey.” 

“Seriously? Only fourteen hours?” 

“Yeah, seriously. We have to keep stopping to gather supplies and get gas and we usually stay the night-”

“IDAHO!” Stiles screamed, bouncing in his seat. “Fucking Idaho!” Derek looked out ahead of him and saw the big “Welcome to Idaho” sign and grinned. Stiles reached over and grabbed Derek’s shirt, shaking him. “Idaho oh my god no more fucking Nevada bullshit.” 

“Calm down, we stay on 93 for a while yet, and we might hit traffic near Twin Falls.” 

“I don’t care, I don’t give a fuck about anything right now because no more Nevada,” Stiles said in a sing song voice. “I want to celebrate,” Stiles picked up his walkie talkie to call up Chris. “Deathstar, this is Venom do you copy?” 

“Yeah, Stiles. I copy.”

“Venom, my name is Venom.” Chris sighed. 

“Copy that, Venom,” Stiles grinned, shooting Derek an amused look. “For your information we are out of Nevada and suddenly everything is green and the desert magically disappeared.”

“You’re lying.” 

“Well, we aren’t in Nevada, but shit is still flat.” Derek snorted at Stiles’ word choice. Stiles smacked him again. Derek took the walkie talkie from Stiles, which got him a death glare, but he ignored it. 

“Hey Chris, it doesn’t look like there is much up 93 at this point, so we will let you know when we scout someplace to stop, I know our Jeep is running low on fuel.”

“Copy that, Derek.”

“Venom,” Stiles said, leaning towards the walkie talkie. Derek shook his head, setting the walkie talkie aside. 

They drove for maybe another thirty minutes before Stiles slowed down enough that it caught Derek’s attention, his eyes lifting from the map. 

“Stiles, what are you-”

“Holy mother fucking-” Stiles slowed down even more, his face not looking forward, but to his left. Derek’s eyes followed Stiles’ and he gasped. Zombies. Loads of them, walking slowly, about to cross the road in front of them a few hundred yards ahead. 

“Stop the car,” Derek almost yelled, his arm going against Stiles’ chest, as if bracing him. Stiles slowed down as quietly as he could, stopping the car, his eyes wide. 

“Derek, there are tons of them.” 

“Shh, just be quiet.” 

“We have to warn them,” Stiles whispered as he slunk down in his seat. “We are also almost out of gas.”

“We have another container, we are fine,” Derek whispered as he grabbed the walkie talkie. 

“Chris come in, this is Derek. We have a major Zombie parade. Stop where you are.” Stiles was so scared he didn’t give a shit that they weren’t using callsigns because what the fuck zombies in a herd. 

“Are you in danger?” Chris asked. 

“We will be if they see us,” Derek whispered, turning to Stiles. “Stiles, start going in reverse.” Stiles sat up, and did as he was asked. “Slowly.”

Stiles, breathing in short bursts, craned his neck as he started going backwards as Derek watched the zombies. 

“Oh, fuck, Derek we’re so screwed,” Stiles whimpered. Derek looked behind him to see another herd crossing behind them even closer. “Where the fuck did they come from?” 

“I don’t know,” Derek gulped, clutching the walkie talkie. “Chris, we’re surrounded. Stay the fuck back. Stay where you are.” 

“Copy that, don’t get yourselves killed.” Stiles laughed, but covered his mouth. Derek put the walkie talkie down, then twisted in his seat, undoing his seatbelt, grabbing two guns, handing one to Stiles. 

“We can’t kill all of them,” Stiles muttered, shaking his head. “Too many.” 

“We aren’t going to attack, we are on defense. Now shut up until they pass, they are between us right now, they could just keep going. We know they can’t smell, or they can’t from a distance.”

“Too bad covering ourselves with Zombie guts doesn’t mask us.” 

“Disgusting, no, be quiet,” Derek hissed. Stiles reached his hand out, glancing towards Derek, his fingers flexing, wanting Derek’s free hand. Derek took it, squeezing it tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got to love a cliff hanger.


	4. Chapter 4

All Stiles could hear was his own heartbeat and the sound of his breathing. He had allergies, and every thirty seconds or so he had to sniff, which he simply couldn’t help. His mouth hung open so that he could breathe, but his gut reaction to breathe in through his nose was too overpowering, he couldn’t stop it from happening. Derek’s thumb slid back and forth over Stiles’ hand as they sat crouched down low in the Jeep, their bodies twisted and bent uncomfortably so that they couldn’t be seen. 

Stiles pointed at the ignition key, making a hand movement that indicated turning it off. Derek shrugged, then shook his head, pointing at his ears. Stiles’ brow furrowed in confusion as he mouthed ‘What?’ Derek only shook his head again, rolling his eyes as he did so. Stiles sniffed subconsciously, licking his lips, wishing he had an Allegra and chapstick because he sorely needed both. If they survived, that is. Stiles shifted, wincing as his body contorted. He had something sticking into his side that was blunt, but hurt. Stiles rest his head down on the car seat, tugging Derek’s hand and pressing his lips against it. 

After what felt like forever, Derek peaked up, just enough to see, and sighed audibly. 

“They’re gone,” he whispered, his eyes wide as he looked down at Stiles. Derek was getting up, looking around. Stiles shook his head. 

“No fucking way.”

“Yeah, they’re over there now, headed east.” 

“We’re headed north.”

“Exactly,” Derek said as he grabbed the walkie talkie. “Chris come in, this is Derek.” 

“You’re alive, it has been an hour!” Chris’ voice came through, relieved and angry. Stiles sat up, stretching as best he could. 

“Time flies when Stiles can’t say anything,” Derek said, grinning.Stiles punched him in the arm as hard as he could. It only made Derek laugh. “We are going to start moving, the zombies were headed east, but we are basically headed north. You let us know if you see any others and we will be sure to keep our eyes peeled in all directions.” 

“Do you have binoculars?” Chris asked. Stiles shook his head.

“No, we do not. But Stiles is driving so I am free to look.”

“Good enough, I suppose. Let’s get away from the herd, then find a place to fill up on gas.” 

“Sounds good,” Derek said, then put the walkie talkie down. Stiles sighed. 

“We need gas now,” he whispered, looking at the fuel gage. “We’re almost on E.” 

“I’ll fill it up with what we’ve got,” Derek said, opening the door. Stiles made a noise that sounded like a sharp intake of breath and a growl all at once. Derek looked to him, then stretched. “Come on, you know you want to stretch out. They’re gone.” 

Stiles turned the car off so that Derek could put gas in it, then opened the driver’s side door, stretching immediately as his feet touched the asphalt. Stiles watched as Derek put gas in the Jeep, but only for a moment, before he turned his eyes west, searching for movement. 

“Now would be an awesome time to have perfect eyesight,” Stiles murmured, adjusting his glasses. “Or find an optometrist to steal contacts from.” 

“Only you would steal contacts in an apocalypse,” Derek mused as he finished up. Stiles shrugged. “We can look for one in the next town, maybe.” Stiles nodded. 

“That would be awesome, because if I lose these in a fight with a zombie, I am so screwed.” 

“We could tape them to your face.” Stiles glared at Derek, who walked up to Stiles and kissed him, his hand gripping the back of Stiles’ neck. “Good job staying quiet earlier.” Stiles harumphed. “I know it was hard for you to do.”

“You have no idea,” Stiles mumbled, his eyes closing as Derek’s fingers raked through his hair. 

“Come on, lets find civilization.” 

“Ha, funny. That is unlikely.” 

“You know what I meant,” Derek said, making his way around the Jeep, stowing away the empty gas container and getting back in the passenger seat. Stiles got in and started the car. They drove for another fifteen miles before there was a sign off the highway for gas and McDonalds. Stiles got off at the exit and put the Jeep in park as Derek saw if they had gas. Stiles got a thumbs up from him so he called Chris, letting them know which exit to take. By the time the others arrived, Stiles was starving and shuffling through his bag because the gas station, which so happened to be a truck stop, had a generator and everyone was getting a chance to shower. A real shower. Before he took his turn under the spray, Stiles asked to borrow Chris’ hair trimmer. It didn’t take long before his hair was closely cropped, how he liked it. He felt more like himself, if only he could get rid of the damned glasses. 

Setting his glasses down on top of his pile of clean clothes, Stiles stepped into the warm spray. He moaned, running his fingers through his hair, tilting his head back, enjoying the luxury of running water. Stiles scrubbed down three times, taking care to lather every inch of his body. When he got out and changed into a clean shirt and jeans, he swore he was in heaven. His clothes weren’t caked with dirt and grime, and he didn’t smell of blood and body odor. In the convenience store Stiles picked up deodorant and a can of axe, because he really didn’t want to deal with BO anymore. He went back and grabbed a second deodorant for Derek, along with two tubes of toothpaste and new toothbrushes. Stiles brushed his teeth three times, then gargled mouth wash. He felt normal, felt like the world wasn’t falling apart around him. It was a false sense of security, but for the moment it felt good. 

When he made his way back to the Jeep, Derek was talking with Chris, their heads dipped low, whispering to each other. Stiles lifted an eyebrow, but stowed away his new belongings into an almost full duffel bag. His dirty clothes were shoved into a plastic bag and tied off, along with Derek’s. Stiles slipped on his father’s jacket, his fingers tugging at the zipper. In his mind, Stiles was still small, still too young to wear his father’s jacket. In his mind, his father towered over him and the jacket’s sleeves were too long and covered his hands like it did when he was younger. It surprised him, then, that the jacket fit him perfectly. It was a bit too big around, because his father wasn’t as skinny as he is, but the sleeves fit, the shoulders were perfect for Stiles’ broad ones. Stiles frowned, swallowing when he realized that he was fully grown, and that this jacket, his father’s jacket, fit him perfectly fine. He looked up to see Derek staring at him, his arms crossed as he talked to Chris. Stiles cleared his throat, shoving his hands into the pockets. Stiles walked over to them, not caring if he was interrupting. Derek’s eyes flickered to Stiles’ hair, but he said nothing. 

“If there are more herds like that, it will be difficult to avoid them,” Chris said, looking between Derek and Stiles. Stiles watched Derek, who looked tense. 

“We can’t know if there are or not, it could have been a one time thing.”

“And how many did you think was in the herd?” Chris asked. 

“At least one hundred,” Stiles whispered. “They were slow, too. It took as long as our radio silence with you for them to cross the highway.” 

“I don’t know why they are herding together, unless they are looking for survivors,” Derek said, shifting from one leg to the other. “But they aren’t trackers, more like grazers.” 

“Thank god they don’t run like in Zombieland,” Stiles murmured under his breath. “We’d be screwed.” Chris nodded in agreement. 

“We have to decide if staying somewhere off the side of the highway will be safe or not tonight, we don’t know what is around,” Chris said, sighing. 

“Let’s drive further and see how far we can get today. I am hoping that we can reach Jackson tomorrow,” Derek said, leaning against the Jeep. “We still have three hours of daylight. I say we drive for two, then set up camp.” Derek looked to Stiles as if wanting his input.

“The closer to Jackson, the better,” Stiles said, knowing that Derek was pushing for them to get there faster so they could move on. It made Stiles’ stomach do somersaults. 

Once back in the Jeep, Stiles sighed, looking down at his last name embroidered on the jacket. 

“The jacket looks good on you,” Derek said, shutting the passenger side door. Stiles smiled, nodding. Stiles closed his eyes as he felt Derek’s hand on his head, his fingers raking through his short hair. “Seeing your hair this short reminds me of before,” he whispered. “It reminds me of when I was a beta, the day we met in the woods.” 

“You were such a creeper,” Stiles laughed. “Acting all tough and shit.” 

“You were spastic and couldn’t stop talking- oh, wait...” Stiles punched Derek, hard. Derek only laughed, throwing his head back as he held his arm where Stiles’ fist had landed. Stiles started the Jeep and headed north. 

“For that, I am singing Nickelback.”

“No, don’t-” 

“Yeah, I’m doing it.”

“If you do, you’ll get it stuck in our heads. I can’t handle that shit.” Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“Lucky for you, I can’t even think of one of their songs right now. Right now it is all about Smooth Criminal in my mind which is all just ‘Annie are you okay, are you okay Annie?’” Stiles sighed, humming the beat of the music instead, then saying ‘Yow!’ at all the wrong times on purpose. 

At almost the two hour mark, Stiles got Derek’s attention. “Hey, that sign said there is a legit camping ground at the next exit. They would have water pumps! And maybe electricity? But would have porta potties. Let’s go there.” 

Derek nodded his head. 

“Sounds good, I’ll tell Chris we are going to scout it out.” Stiles and Derek drove up to the camp ground, surprised to find trailers and RVs set up, but with plenty of room to spare. Stiles and Derek exchanged glances as they got out of the car, guns in hand. They walked slowly around, Stiles knocking on the first RV’s door. With no answer, he opened it up to see that it was empty. 

“The keys are in the ignition, Derek,” Stiles said, turning his head to look at Derek who was outside the RV. What do you think that means?” 

“Let’s keep looking, stay alert.” Stiles nodded, following Derek’s lead

“Do you smell anything?” Stiles asked. Derek froze for a second, his eyes going wide, his hand reaching out, pushing Stiles back behind him. 

“Yeah, I do.”

“What is it?” Stiles whispered as he heard the snap of a twig. Something was near, very near. “Zombies?” Stiles asked. Derek was in the middle of shaking his head when he saw it. “Werewolf?” He asked as he saw glowing yellow eyes. Derek crouched, then howled, his red eyes glowing. “Shit,” Stiles whispered to himself as he raised his gun, knowing it would do nothing to save him. 

The werewolf stalked forward slowly, jerking, his neck snapping as it tilted one way. Stiles’ eyes widened. It was a zombie. A werewolf zombie from hell, who was staring at Stiles. Stiles wondered for a second if werewolf zombies had a sense of smell or not, if it could smell him, smell his fear. He knew that Derek could smell his fear, and that made his heart beat even faster. Derek lunged forward, leaping into the air towards the zombie, transforming as he hit the ground. Stiles took a step backwards, his eyes not leaving Derek. Derek had the zombie pinned to the ground, both of them slashing at each other. Derek bit at its face, snarling viciously as his claws dug into its chest. Stiles heard shuffling to his right, so he turned his head slightly, his eyes glancing towards the noise. More. There were more. It wasn’t an omega zombie, it was a pack. 

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat. 

“Derek,” Stiles whispered in a rush. He knew that he shouldn’t run, he should never run from a werewolf, but you should run from zombies. Within the blink of an eye he took off, weaving between RVs, skidding in order to take sharp corners. They were zombies, so they weren’t the fastest things. But the werewolf in them had them barely an arms length away from Stiles. All they needed was for Stiles to trip, and they would have him. There were two of them on his tail. He knew that if he turned and stopped to shoot one of them, the other would gut him. He wasn’t about to risk that. Stiles circled around to where Derek had been, but only found the unmoving corpse of the first zombie. Stiles didn’t stop running, despite the stitch in his side. 

“Derek!” Stiles screamed out as he rounded another corner, gasping out loud when he came across a pile of bones on the ground, scattered. Human bones. They weren’t going to make him into a zombie, they were going to eat him alive. “Fuck,” he shouted as he pushed forward. He chanced a look back, relief flooding him when he saw Derek bound towards them, his teeth sinking into the furthest behind of the zombies, ripping it’s flesh. It toppled to the ground reaching its claws back to swing out at Derek. Stiles skidded to a halt, holding his breath as he twisted his body, using all of his strength to propel his body weight into the impact of using his shotgun like a bat. He hit it in the neck, near the shoulder. Stiles wished he had aimed higher, for a split second as it stumbled back. He lifted his arms, readying to take another swing, but he misjudged how far from him it had fallen, because it slashed Stiles with its claws. Instead of swinging, he dropped the gun as he fell to his knees. Stiles clutched at his side, scooting away from the zombie as fast as he could. He grabbed his gun, cocking it and taking aim as it crawled towards him, fangs bared. 

“Fuck off,” Stiles whispered as he pulled the trigger, blowing its head off. As soon as it stopped moving, he released his grip on the gun, letting it hit the ground with a thud. He closed his eyes, licking his lips as he pressed his hand against his stomach, looking down to see blood. He hated blood, he always did. But now that it was his, he felt sick. His eyes rolling back, his head lulling to the side, he felt lightheaded, weak. Before Stiles blacked out, he heard a howl, felt Derek’s nose against his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that I like cliffhangers? No? Welp. 
> 
> I also like um, decoys. Thinking bad has passed but really, it was a set up and a build to something else. Does that have a name? If it does I am blanking on it. If it has a name I am going to feel dumb later. 
> 
> /ramble


	5. Chapter 5

Derek whimpered in his alpha form, licking Stiles’ face a few times before turning back into a human, his hands immediately cupping Stiles’ face. 

“Stiles, wake up.” 

No response. Derek reached for the walkie talkie that was clipped to Stiles’ jeans, calling for backup. 

“Chris, it’s Derek. Stiles is down, he was attacked-”

“Is he turned?” Chris asked, his voice cracking. Derek shook his head. 

“No, we ran into... werewolves, that were zombies. He got clawed pretty badly,” Derek said, lifting Stiles’ bloodied shirt just enough to see the gashes in his side. “We are at the RV camp off the exit.” 

“We’re on our way,” Chris told him. Derek tossed the walkie talkie aside then looked around for his shirt and jeans. He slipped the jeans on, but then balled up his shirt, applying pressure to the wound. Stiles moaned, his face scrunching up in pain as his eyes fluttered open. 

“What-?”

“You’ll be fine, just stay still,” Derek urged him. Stiles sighed, closing his eyes, his face contorting. “Chris will bring Deaton.” 

“Yay for veterinarians,” Stiles gasped, squirming as he moved his legs.

“What part of stay still is hard for you to understand?” Derek growled, applying more pressure to the wound. 

“Ouch, fucker,” Stiles hissed, but stopped fidgeting, his hand moving to cover Derek’s where it held his shirt in place. “If I was going to turn into a zombie, I’d already-”

“You aren’t turning into a zombie, Stiles.” 

“What if it is slower with werezombies,” Stiles asked. “Holy shit there were werezombies, Derek. What if there are more, they can’t come here. It isn’t secure-” 

“Stiles, there is nothing else here. Nothing,” Derek rumbled. Stiles bit his lip. “And you aren’t going to become a zombie.” 

“If I was, you’d end it, right? I don’t want to be a zombie-”

“Stiles we aren’t discussing-”

“Derek, if I am ever bit I want you to kill me before I try to attack you.” 

Derek sighed, looking away from Stiles, his head shaking slightly. “Promise me.” 

“No, I am not... this is not a conversation we are having.”

“Derek I am bleeding out on the fucking ground-” 

“You aren’t bleeding out,” Derek yelled. Stiles closed his eyes, turning his head away from Derek. “You got scratched, that’s all.” 

“I feel like my insides are falling out,” Stiles murmured. Derek applied more pressure and Stiles winced. “Ease up a bit, you’re going to press me into the ground.” Derek loosened a bit, Stiles sighed, licking his lips. “Are you sure the perimeter is secure? You should check it.” 

“I’m not leaving you-”

“Check the god damn perimeter before they arrive, Derek,” Stiles said, his voice sharp, his eyes narrowed. “I can handle this.” Derek growled as he backed away, his hands covered in Stiles’ blood. Stiles hit his head against the ground a couple of times as he shifted a bit, getting more comfortable by putting a foot on the ground, bringing a knee up as both his hands pressed Derek’s shirt against the wound. Stiles counted the seconds to keep from thinking about the pain, think about how close he had been to death. How he shot a werezombie’s head off, how there were fucking werezombies. It made sense, since Scott had turned, Jackson too. But they hadn’t wolfed out. Stiles gnawed at his bottom lip. He didn’t want to think about Scott and Jackson when he was basically bleeding out on the ground. Stiles heard Derek running back towards him and he relaxed. Before he knew it, Derek’s hands were on him again, pushing his own hands out of the way so he could take care of him. 

“How far are they, do you think?” Stiles asked, clearing his throat, trying to wet his mouth. It was so dry, he was parched. He needed water. Derek shook his head as he wiped a hand on his jeans, cleaning it as best he could so that he could touch Stiles’ face. 

“I’m going to take some pain away-”

“Don’t-”

“You can’t stop me,” Derek murmured, pressing a hand to Stiles’ cheek. Stiles shuddered as he felt Derek sucking some of the pain from him. His eyelids became heavy, but he saw Derek’s veins, saw how black they were. Stiles felt numb, felt tired. 

“I hate when you do that,” he mumbled. “Your werevoodoo creeps me out.” 

“Well, I hate when you get hurt,” Derek countered. Stiles sniggered, hissing afterwards because it hurt, despite Derek taking away some of his pain. “Stiles, I-” Derek stopped mid sentence, turning his head as if listening for something. Stiles couldn’t hear anything, so he waited. “They’re here, I’m going to go get them, alright?” He asked, looking down at Stiles. Stiles nodded, slipping his fingers beneath Derek’s to take over in applying pressure to the wound. Derek was gone in a flash. Stiles heard car doors slamming and people talking. 

Dr. Deaton showed up, along with a woman, Tara, who was a nurse before the world went to hell. 

“Hey, Stiles, can you let us take a look?” Tara asked, her voice sweet and caring. Stiles let his hands drop to the ground. He was too tired to do much else. Neither of them said a word, but looked at each other. Stiles cleared his throat. 

“Do me a favor and don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice hoarse. 

“You’re going to need stitches, and we’re glad you found that fully stocked pharmacy,” Dr. Deaton said, smiling reassuringly. Stiles closed his eyes, content with his answer. “We need to move him, I’m not doing this on a dirt floor.” Dr. Deaton told Tara. “Find an RV we can take over, the owners won’t mind, I’m sure.” Tara ran off in search for a place to do surgery as Dr. Deaton took over in applying pressure. After some time, she returned with news that they set up a spot in one of the RV’s with the most gas in it. Chris Argent and Derek helped a groggy Stiles to his feet, practically dragging him to the RV. 

“Oh, this is nice,” Stiles mused as he was laid down on a table, his head on a pillow because they padded up one of the booths with a box and pillows so he had something to put his head on while his legs dangled off the other side of the table. Derek had taken Stiles’ father’s jacket off of him and they carefully peeled back his shirt, cutting it off of him. Stiles grumbled because it was his clean shirt. Now, though, it was drenched in blood. “Oh, shit, that is disgusting,” Stiles said as he looked down at his stomach. He made a gagging noise, then turned his head away from it, his hand covering his mouth. 

Derek waited outside the RV while Dr. Deaton and Tara fixed Stiles up, sitting on some family’s old cooler, not touched in who knows how long. He had the Sheriff’s jacket in his hand. Miraculously, it was untouched, clean except for dirt from the ground. Derek zoned out, thinking about Stiles scrambling across the ground right before he fired the gun, about Stiles shouting Derek’s name. Derek closed his eyes, sighing to himself. Stiles was human, so human. He was fragile, despite Stiles refusing to believe it himself. Derek thought about Stiles and the bat, Stiles screaming at Derek that he needed to kill zombies, that he needed to fight. He wasn’t going to sit anything out, he wasn’t going to cower or hide when they were attacked. All Derek wanted to do was keep Stiles safe, keep him alive. Stiles who refused to be left behind in anything, who volunteered to be the scouting party, who put himself out there for the entire group. 

“Mind if I run something by you?” Derek looked up to see Chris Argent standing above him, hands on his hips, looking at his surroundings. Derek sat up straight, breathing in and out, releasing his thoughts into the air. It would do no good fretting now. 

“What’s up?” Derek asked, standing. Chris began walking, so Derek followed. 

“I’m taking a look at these RV’s. Most of them are in very, very good shape. Most have gas in them-”

“You’re thinking about supplementing our entourage with RVs?” Derek asked. Chris nodded. Derek sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “How many are you talking about?” 

“Well, at least three.” Derek grumbled. “Hear me out, Derek.” Chris waited a second to see if Derek was going to say anything. When Derek didn’t say anything, he continued. “With Stiles injured, I think my expedition should take up scouting duty- hold on, let me finish,” Chris said when Derek looked like he was about to interrupt. “The Jeep can travel hooked to the back of the RV. Tara’s station wagon is about to die, anyways, and these RV’s have beds, Derek. No more tents, no more being out in the open.” 

“You have a point,” Derek said, thinking about having an RV when he and Stiles broke off from the rest of the group, if they decided to do that after this. Maybe a bigger group is better. “Why run this by me? You’re in charge.” Chris laughed, he literally laughed. 

“You know that isn’t true, Derek. Sure, I know where we are headed, but... who amongst us is in the scout vehicle?” Derek clenched his jaw, tight. 

“Me? No, I have let you and Stiles make-” Derek’s eyes widened. “Stiles?” 

“You haven’t noticed?” Chris asked, his eyebrows raised. “Stiles, who always scouts, Stiles who never takes a night off, always on watch, Stiles who decides how to ration the food, the water. The kid weaseled his way into command.” Chris wasn’t mad, he was impressed. “Stiles is the one to convince, Derek. He won’t like not being on point, but we need him healthy.” Derek swelled with pride, with so many feelings at once he thought he was going to explode. He knew that Stiles was pushy, that he fought for what he wanted and what he believed should be done with the group but he really hadn’t looked around, hadn’t seen what all Stiles had done for the group as a whole. He was too focused on the pack, on Stiles’ mental health because of his father, because of Scott. Stiles was hanging on by a thread but he put up a facade, he kept busy and by keeping busy he built a pack of his own, a caravan of people who were following him without him knowing it. Chris was right, he may know the destination, but Stiles and Derek were making sure they got there in mostly one piece. 

“I’ll talk to him,” Derek whispered, his mouth dry. This changed things, when it came to them leaving. If Stiles knew what he meant to the group, would he leave them behind? No, he wouldn’t. 

“Thanks,” Chris said as they stopped in front of an RV. “This is your new home.” Chris extended his arm, letting Derek walk in first. Derek looked around. It had a fridge, a shower, a toilet. “We can use the showers here, since there is a water hook up, and electricity, somehow, I don’t know how, though.” Derek opened the fridge, surprised that the light was on and it was cool inside. He couldn’t help but laugh, looking at Chris for confirmation. “I think if you, Stiles, Erica, and Allison stay in this one it will be good.”

“And you?” Derek asked, his brow furrowed. Chris raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you want to be near Allison?” 

“I do, but I don’t want to intrude on your pack dynamics.” 

“You wouldn’t be, besides, there are enough beds, and if you’re scouting that means that you won’t have an RV-”

“I could sleep in Dr. Deaton and Tara’s, or one of the-”

“You can sleep here,” Derek said, with conviction. Chris smiled, nodding. “As long as Stiles approves. He won’t like sidelining his baby.” 

“No, he won’t,” Chris admitted. “But he is sidelined-”

“Which he will also object to.” 

“Yes, well. I’m putting my foot down on that one. Those gashes were deep, and by a werewolf, a zombie. We don’t know the repercussions, if there are any.” Derek clenched his jaw, folding his arms over his chest, looking away from Chris as if the mere thought of something happening to Stiles because of the wound would send Derek into a ramage. “I think we should camp here for the night, I think it is secure, that the werezombies kept this area as their territory, somehow. What do you think?”

“I agree. I don’t think we will run into any trouble here. But maybe we make our usual circle anyways, doors facing inwards. We have to figure out how to get Stiles into one of these beds.” 

“I think we should drug him and carry him, to be honest,” Chris said, to which Derek laughed. “You and I both know he wouldn’t sit still long enough. He is going to pop those stitches-”

“There you two are,” Tara said, sighing as she walked up the steps into the RV. “Stiles is asking for you,” she said to Derek, her lips pursed together. Derek raised his eyebrows and looked to Chris, letting him know he would get back to him about the drugging and the carrying of Stiles. Derek practically ran to where Stiles was. He clambered into the RV to see Dr. Deaton washing his hands at the sink. He looked to Stiles, his torso bandaged, his eyes closed. 

“I gave him Vicodin,” Dr. Deaton whispered. “For the pain, and to help him sleep. I know he doesn’t sleep much. He should still be lucid, though, if you shake him a bit.” Derek walked forward, taking Stiles’ hand in his. Stiles’ eyes opened slowly, fluttering as if it was hard to keep them that way. 

“He gave me the good shit,” Stiles mumbled. Derek smiled, linking their fingers. “His good shit, mixed with your good shit is like....” Stiles’ head lulled to the side as he breathed deeply as if it was overwhelming, his eyes widening to normal size for a second. “Am I inside?” Stiles asked jerking his head around, looking at his surroundings. “Is that water? Is it running?” Stiles tried to sit up but Derek stopped him, with a hand on his shoulder, pressing him down.

“No moving,” Derek said firmly. Stiles relaxed beneath him. 

“My dad’s jacket-”

“Is safe, clean.” Stiles closed his eyes. “We’re going to put you in a bed,” Derek said, looking at Dr. Deaton instead of Stiles, as if asking for permission. “We’re going to carry you and put you in a bed, with pillows and a blanket, and a mattress.” 

“Bullshit. I call bullshit. Don’t lie,” Stiles said, his words starting to slur. “Assface.” Derek rolled his eyes as Chris walked in. 

“How is he?” He asked the vet. 

“He needs rest, and knowing him, if he moves much he is going to pop the stitches...”

“He can hear youuuuuuuu,” Stiles said, louder than he had intended. Chris, Derek, and Dr. Deaton looked at Stiles, then at each other. 

“I suggest that he lays low until we get to Wyoming.” Stiles snorted from the table. Chris exchanged a look with Derek, to which Derek sighed audibly. 

“Okay, let’s move him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to those of you who have commented on this so far! it really means a lot :)


	6. Chapter 6

Once Stiles was situated in the RV, Derek helped set up the camp by driving the RVs and cars, making their normal circle. They made use of the electricity and water, making real food, practically a feast, for dinner. Derek saved Stiles a plate, sticking it in their fridge for when he woke up from his medicated sleep. Erica crawled into one of the bunks after finding a book in one of the RVs. She hummed to herself as she read, curled up underneath blankets, her head resting on a pillow. Allison took a shower, then blow dried her hair for the first time in months. Everyone flipped out when someone found a washer and dryer in one of the bigger RVs, which wasn’t in the original three that they were going to be confiscating. Obviously, that changed quickly. Derek handed over he and Stiles’ dirty clothes as piles were made, sorting the clothes to be washed. Chores were divided up, sorting through the personal belongings in the RVs. Clothes were set aside for people to look through, see if there was anything they wanted, if anything fit them. A sharpie was found, and everyone wrote their names on the tags of their clothes so everything could get back to them easy. By the time the sun started setting, the normal watch schedule was handed out, along with a laundry duty list. Allison and Derek were on the watch list, and Erica was on laundry duty. Derek didn’t have to be on watch until third shift, just before dawn, so he wandered back to his RV, turning on the light. Chris was outside, talking, like normal, to others in their group. Derek crouched down by Stiles’ bunk, his fingers linking together with Stiles’. 

Derek knew that Stiles was waking up by the change in his breathing, his heart beat picking up just enough to register. Stiles turned his head towards Derek, his face scrunched up in pain. 

“I feel like death and dying,” he croaked, his throat dry. “Water?” He asked. Derek released his hand and filled up a glass with cold, running water. Stiles sat up just enough so that it wouldn’t spill all over him, even though it hurt. He gulped down most of it before he took a breath. “We’re in an RV,” Stiles said, looking around, sticking his head out of the bunk so he could get a better look. “The lights are on.”

“One of them had a washer and dryer,” Derek said, crouching back down, his hand going to Stiles’ thigh. He needed to touch him, to remind himself that Stiles was alive and that he would be okay. Stiles’ hand rest gently over his bandage, his fingers ghosting over it, his eyes downcast. 

“Laundry, running water, it’s like it isn’t the end of the world.” 

“It’s a ruse,” Derek murmured. Stiles sighed, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I have food for you, real food. Made with a stove.”

“No shit?” Stiles asked, his eyes widening. “I am starving.” Derek smiled, standing once more and getting the plate out of the fridge and putting it in the microwave. Stiles bit his lip as he watched Derek carefully, his face falling. 

“This is like some sort of harsh purgatory or something. Electricity? Hot food? Clean clothes. Shit is about to go down after this isn’t it?” Stiles asked. Derek shook his head. 

“Don’t think like that, it isn’t good to think like that.” 

“It’s true though, it can only go downhill from here.” 

“Do you think you could sit? Want to come to the table?” Derek asked. Stiles shrugged, slowly moving, flinging his legs over the edge of the bunk. Derek moved to help him but Stiles swatted his hand away, his face set in a grimace. 

“Help me and you die,” Stiles said through gritted teeth as he pulled himself to his feet, hissing as he held his stomach. “I need more drugs, did Dr. Deaton give me a bottle of pills or-”

“No, he didn’t,” Derek said frowning, his hand up near Stiles like he wanted to help him as Stiles wobbled slowly to the table, sliding into the booth. “I could-”

“No more werevoodoo,” Stiles said, panting slightly as he stilled, his hands gripping the table, his knuckles white. “It makes me loopy and it sedates me.”

“Like Vicodin doesn’t do that?” Derek asked, an eyebrow raised. Stiles shot him a glare as Derek placed the plate full of food in front of Stiles, along with a fork and a knife. Derek refilled Stiles’ glass of water as well, then sat across from him to watch him eat. Stiles moaned when the first bite touched his tongue. Derek sat back, his hands folded in his lap, his head tilted to one side as Stiles ate mostly in silence. 

“Why so glum?” Stiles asked between bites and a sip of water. Derek shook his head once, his eyes flicking up from watching Stiles swallow to his eyes. “Why are Allison and Erica’s things in here?” Stiles asked. Derek cleared his throat. 

“Right, we have things to discuss.” Stiles’ eyebrows rose. “Chris and I both think that, in light of your injuries-”

“No,” Stiles said, setting his fork and knife down. Derek opened his mouth to continue but Stiles cut him off. “No, I can still drive, Derek. I am still driving-”

“No, you aren’t,” Derek snapped. Stiles sneered, his hands slamming down on the table. 

“You can’t take this from me, Derek!” 

“Yes I can, Stiles! You can’t scout right now, you can’t protect yourself. You can’t run, you can’t swing a bat without ripping open your stitches. This isn’t up for discssion-”

“You can pull your alpha card on me, fuckhead. It doesn’t work like that and you fucking know it.” Derek growled low in his throat. Stiles copied him, doing a damn good job of mimicking his sound. Stiles lip lifted too, his face set hard, angry. Stiles was angry. Derek’s shoulders sagged. 

“I’m not pulling my alpha card on you, if you would let me explain. I don’t want you to fucking die, Stiles. We are almost to Wyoming, you are _injured_. One day. I am asking for one day. I am positive we can get there by tomorrow.” Stiles relaxed, his hands sliding from the table top into his lap, his jaw clenching and unclenching. He wasn’t looking at Derek, but down at his food. “Chris is going to be on point tomorrow-” Stiles was about to interrupt again, but Derek glared at him. “Which makes sense, if we are arriving tomorrow, that he would be on point, considering we are going into a hunter’s encampment.” Stiles pushed his food around with his fork, huffing in anger. “The Jeep is going to be hooked up to the back of the RV so you can rest.”

“Bullshit it is.”

“Stiles, we aren’t fighting about this-”

“Yes,” Stiles said, nodding. “Yes, we are. We are fighting, Derek. This is us fighting. I want to be on point, I want to drive, and fuck everything because it is just a couple of scratch marks, Derek.” Stiles said as he slid off the bench, hissing as he stood up and started walking towards the door. Derek started to go after him but Stiles stopped him with a look. 

“If you follow me I swear to fucking god...” Stiles didn’t even finish his sentence as he exited the RV, cursing under his breath as he made his way across the lot slowly, barefoot, without a shirt, in the cold. Derek remained seated, sighing audibly once. He could hear Stiles yelling, probably at Chris. All Derek could think about was Chris’ words earlier, about how Stiles was in charge, how he had been leading them without knowing it. Chris had been right, that Stiles wouldn’t just sit back and let Chris take his point vehicle. Derek didn’t care either way, he was only on point with Stiles because it was Stiles. He needed to be near Stiles, he didn’t want him out of his sight. He loved Stiles. 

Derek loved Stiles. Derek grimaced where he sat at the table, running his fingers through his hair as he listened to Stiles work himself up. He could picture in his mind, Stiles’ shoulders shrugging as his hands lifted into the air, his words flowing out of his mouth without thinking. Stiles was a ball of fury, of tension and Chris was getting the brunt of it. There wasn’t time to think about love, about feelings, about the meaning behind any of it. It was the end of the world and there was no room for love. Love was a thing of peace in Derek’s mind. Love would get them killed, get himself killed, get Stiles killed. Love is blinding, it infiltrates the mind, makes things unclear and fuzzy. Instincts get messed up with love, thinking takes seconds longer, threats are thought about differently. 

Derek sighed as he stood up, shoving his hands into his back pockets as he made his way out of the RV. Chris and Stiles were standing not far off, Chris with his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed, chin forward as he listened to Stiles’ tirade. Stiles had one had on his wound, the other flailing around, his face hardened but eyes wide as he spoke with conviction. Derek walked up, standing next to Stiles, who didn’t so much as glance at his direction. Chris did though, as if pleading for Derek to calm Stiles down. 

“Stiles,” Derek whispered, a finger linking around one of Stiles’ belt loops. “The camp is sleeping, tone it down.” Stiles glared at him, but took a deep breath at Derek’s insistence. 

“Let’s talk inside like civilized humans, shall we?” Chris suggested, leading the way back into the RV. Stiles sat, his face contorting but spoke nothing about the pain he was feeling as Chris made himself comfortable on the other side of the table. Derek remained standing, opening random cupboards, looking around at what the RV had to offer. He found coffee. Chris and Stiles sat in silence, Stiles picking at the tabletop with his thumbnail, his lips pursed and jaw clenched. Derek showed the coffee to Chris, who nodded that yes, he desperately wanted coffee. Stiles looked up, his eyes dragging over Derek’s body as he watched him work the coffee machine that was underneath the sink. 

“Do you have watch tonight?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded. 

“I do,” Derek said with a certain snap. He hated fighting with Stiles, because he never knew, if they were attacked, if it was the last thing he would ever say to Stiles. He didn’t want his last memories of any of his pack to be with him having words of anger on the tip of his tongue. Derek leaned on the counter as the coffee brewed, turning his attention back to Stiles and Chris.   
Stiles opened his mouth, about to say something, but then thought better of it. He lowered his gaze instead, breathing deeply, silently, his nostrils flaring slightly. Derek rolled his eyes, cleared his throat to get both of their attention. As soon as Stiles’ eyes were on him, Derek spoke. 

“You have to understand where Chris and I are coming from in this decision, Stiles.” Stiles grunted, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. “One day, Stiles. That is all we are asking for.” 

“And then after that it will be, ‘one more, just another day’ or ‘we don’t need you to go out’, and ‘let the wolves do it, it is safer’-”

“No,” Derek growled, his arms flexing in anger. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you.” Stiles looked up at him, his face set, his shoulders back as if ready to fight again. “You can kill zombies all you want, after you are healed. We have the manpower, you don’t need to put yourself out there when it isn’t necessary-”

“Such bullshit. We don’t have manpower!” Stiles spat, looking at Chris for backup. “We have you, Chris, Erica, Allison, a vet, a nurse, a mechanic who can’t shoot to save his life, a postal worker, a stay at home mom, we have children, we have a tax auditor. We do not have manpower. We had manpower, but you know what? _They died_.” 

Derek’s gut clenched. Jackson, Isaac, Boyd, Scott. All dead. They died protecting, saving the rest, sacrificing themselves. Derek didn’t want that for Stiles. He wanted Stiles to survive. 

“Once we get to Wyoming, this won’t be an issue. They will have guns, and bodies. This discussion is not needed,” Chris said, looking mainly at Stiles. “Don’t make me drug you into submission, Stilinski.” Stiles swallowed, looking to Derek. Derek looked at the ground, unable to look Stiles in the face because he too, thought of knocking Stiles out until they got to safety, to Wyoming. 

“Derek...” Stiles’ voice was low, pleading. Derek sighed, shaking his head once. “Fine.” There was a sense of finality to Stiles’ crisp, harsh wording. “Fuck you two for thinking I am too weak to scout.” Stiles got up and hobbled his way out of the RV, shoving his way past Derek who was still leaning against the counter. Derek and Chris sat in silence for a moment, not moving. 

“It’s just one day,” Chris said, shaking his head. “I don’t get it. He needs rest, he shouldn’t even be walking around-”

“It isn’t about how long it is for,” Derek said, looking out the window, watching Stiles scratching his head, murmuring to himself as he paced around, gnawing on his bottom lip and adjusting his glasses. “It’s the fact that I keep trying to get him to not... put himself in harms way. It’s about us, not you.” Chris lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that, he and Erica are all I have left.” 

“And Allison.”

“And Allison, but she is more your pack than mine, now.” 

“She thinks otherwise, she won’t leave Erica’s side.” 

“They’re grieving together. We’re all dealing with all this shit in our own ways and for Stiles it is keeping busy. We’re taking that away from him, he’s upset because that gives him time to think. He is going to think about Scott, about his dad. He is going to think about how the world is falling apart around him and there isn’t anything he can do about it. We just took away his sanity.” 

Chris sighed audibly, joining Derek by looking outside. 

“He can be my driver, then. But my car is still on point.” Derek side eyed Chris, wanting to shout no, that he had to be in the same vehicle as Stiles but Derek knew that wouldn’t solve anything. Chris was more than capable of taking care of Stiles. Hell, Stiles could take care of Stiles. Derek rumbled deep in his chest, but ended up nodding. 

“You can tell him, patch things up between you two,” Derek offered him. Chris smiled, clapping him on the back as he walked off to tell Stiles. Derek watched them for a moment, then poured himself a cup of coffee. He moaned at the taste of it. It reminded him of, well, the past. It tasted like the past, of a time without zombies and the constant threat of death. Derek poured a second mug of it for Chris, walking it outside to them. He chanced a glance at Stiles, who looked to be in a better mood, then walked back into the RV without a word. He didn’t want to force himself on Stiles, not if Stiles still wanted space. When he got mad, he wanted to be left alone. He didn’t want to be pushed into talking, into resolving anything. When Stiles was ready, he would talk, they would talk. After spending so much time with Stiles, Derek was glad he knew his little nuances, how Stiles ticked. He wouldn’t have that if the apocalypse hadn’t started, he realized. He wouldn’t know Stiles like he did, not really. Their bond was strong, meant more now than before. Derek didn’t want to just sit around, doing nothing. He put his jacket on, poured another mug of coffee, then walked out of the RV with two mugs in hand. Stiles was nowhere to be found, but Derek wasn’t looking for him. 

He walked up to Allison who was on duty, handing her the extra cup of coffee. She took it, her face lighting up with a smile. 

“Coffee? Really?” She asked, cupping it between both of her hands, taking a sip. “Oh this is amazing. You’re amazing. I want to just-” she kissed Derek on the cheek. “Thank you, Derek.” 

Derek cleared his throat. Feeling his cheeks reddening, he took a sip of his coffee, looking around. 

“I was going to go see if I could relieve someone else and pull a double,” he said. “Know of anyone who seems a bit tired?” He asked. 

“Frank, he is to the south. He drove today and pulled a double last night.” Derek nodded, walking towards Frank, to relieve him. 

Stiles found Dr. Deaton settling in, putting his things away in his RV. The vet smiled at Stiles as he made his way inside. 

“I see you’re up and about.” Stiles smiled, half laughing as he held his side. 

“I come in search of pills,” he rasped, his throat dry. He cleared his throat, covering his mouth as he did so. The doctor’s brow furrowed as he took a step towards Stiles. 

“No shirt? It is almost freezing outside.” Stiles shrugged, flinching back as Dr. Deaton put a hand against his forehead. “You’re burning up, sit down.” Stiles groaned doing as the doctor asked. “Actually, let’s take a look at your wound,” he said as he took out a thermometer and placed it in Stiles’ mouth, shutting him up for the time being. The doctor removed the bandages and sighed. Stiles looked down at his stomach, his eyes widening slightly. “Werewolves,” the doctor muttered, mostly to himself. “I think it needs to breathe, it may be infected.” Stiles whimpered as the thermometer beeped. “You have a fever, I’m going to give you some antibiotics and something else for the pain, as well as recleaning it before I let you go.” Stiles nodded, his fingers pressing against the tender flesh surrounding the gashes. It hurt deep down, aching and stinging. 

“Do you...” Stiles gasped as Dr. Deaton cleaned the wound, “Do you think I could drive? Tomorrow?” he asked. The doctor raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. 

“If this is about you scouting... no, I don’t.” Stiles’ face dropped, his eyes closed as if defeated. His face scrunched up in pain, but not the pain from the wound. Inner turmoil, regret, a sense of being too weak to handle being injured, not good enough. “I told you earlier to take it easy, and I mean it.” Stiles nodded, his face covered by a hand, his index fingers ghosting across his lashes, catching a tear before it dared to fall. 

“I don’t want to be weak,” he whispered, his voice catching in this throat.

“No one in this camp thinks that, Stiles,” Dr. Deaton said, his voice grave. “I am going to walk you to your RV and give you some pretty heavy sedatives, so you will actually get rest, are you alright with that?”

“Hit me with whatever you’ve got, doc,” Stiles whispered, barely audible, his voice shaking with emotion. As they made their way back to the RV, Stiles looked around. “I need to talk to Chris, before you make me pass out.”

“What is it? I can tell him if you like,” Deaton offered. Stiles sighed, his eyes squinting through his glasses. 

“Tell him, tell him that I will ride in the RV tomorrow, that I don’t need to scout.” Dr. Deaton nodded. 

“I’ll be sure to tell him.”

When Derek walked in, just before dawn, he didn’t crawl into his own bunk. Instead, he shifted into his full alpha form, and hopped into Stiles’ bunk, carefully making sure not to press a paw against his wound. Derek whimpered, his nose nudging Stiles’ neck. Stiles stirred enough to move over enough for Derek to press against the wall and his torso, Derek’s snout burying itself into the nook between Stiles’ neck and shoulder. Stiles’ hand came up, his fingers running through Derek’s fur. Derek sighed, his eyes closing, hoping for at least a little sleep before their day started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are enjoying this verse as much as I am :)   
> Thank you again for your comments! They mean a lot, seriously.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles woke up to the sound of Erica and Allison whispering and the clanking of coffee mugs. Stiles opened his eyes in time to witness Chris kissing Allison’s forehead before heading out of the RV. Stiles stretched his legs, shifting slightly, his fingers gripping tight to Derek’s fur. Derek hadn’t moved since he came in at dawn. Stiles moved his fingers, scratching and massaging Derek’s coat. He wanted to curl in against him, but his stomach hurt. He compromised by pressing his face against Derek’s muzzle, moving his head back and forth, nuzzling him. Derek’s eyes opened and he licked Stiles’ cheek once, sighing. 

“We’re not fighting anymore, sourwolf,” Stiles murmured. “Dr. Deaton forbade me from scouting-” Derek whimpered, which made Stiles smile. “So I’m sticking to the bed. Or the table. I can sit at the table.” Derek shifted and suddenly there wasn’t much room in the bunk. Stiles scooted over as much as he could as Derek’s leg slipped between his, his arms wrapping around Stiles. Stiles tugged on the curtain, closing off the morning light and blocking them from view. 

“He made you concede?” Derek asked, his lips pressed against Stiles’ neck. Stiles scoffed, his fingers running through Derek’s hair in the same pattern he did when Derek was a wolf. 

“Something like that. More like I tucked my tail between my legs and hung my head in defeat-”

“Stop it,” Derek urged. “You don’t need to be in the line of fire all of the time.” Stiles sighed unhappily. “Sit this one out, you’ll go up to bat next time.” 

“Nice, baseball analogies to make me feel better,” Stiles mumbled. Derek smiled warmly. “So hey, this sounds crazy but, uh, you’re naked, and in my bed. We’re in a bed, and you’re naked.” Derek laughed silently, his shoulders bouncing as he buried his face in Stiles’ neck, his lips pressing against Stiles’ skin, teeth raking gently across his neck. “Not subtle enough? Because to be honest, you pressed against my leg is torture-” Derek’s lips captured Stiles’, a hand grasping at Stiles’ jaw, angling his head just so. Stiles moaned, his grip on Derek’s hair tightening. He yanked it, one, twice, making Derek moan into the deepening kiss. Derek rolled his hips, thrusting his growing erection against Stiles’ clothed thigh. Stiles gasped, as Derek moved against him, as he brushed his stubble against Stiles’ exposed skin. Stiles, his mouth open and gaping, moaned loudly. Derek covered Stiles’ mouth with one hand, fingers slipping against Stiles’ wet lips. Stiles took two into his mouth as Derek’s other hand slipped down his torso, beneath the fabric of his boxers, gripping him and jacking him off. Stiles rolled his eyes, groaning with Derek’s slicked fingers pressed against his tongue as Derek’s hand worked him, his thumb pressing against Stiles’ head, smearing precome across his palm. Stiles wanted to move more, wanted Derek on top of him, but his stomach was already hurting enough without the movement. Derek rut against him, grunting as if he was perfectly happy with getting himself off against Stiles’ leg. Stiles turned his head, ridding himself of Derek’s fingers, his mouth open and eyes begging for Derek’s mouth. He licked his lips, yanking on Derek’s hair once more, bringing him closer. Derek obliged, pressing his lips against Stiles’, their tongues tangling as Stiles rolled his hips, fucking shallowly up into Derek’s hand, his chest heaving as he got closer and closer to his climax. 

“Come for me, Stiles,” Derek rasped against Stiles’ lips, his mouth trailing down Stiles’ neck, his nose pressing against tender flesh as Derek picked up the pace, making Stiles bite his lip and close his eyes as his body shook out his release. 

“Ah, fuck, Derek,” Stiles gasped out, his toes curling as hot streams of come covered his chest. Stiles shook his head back and forth slowly as he raked his fingers through his own hair, then ran them down his face, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he came down from his high. Derek smirked as he leaned over Stiles’ chest, his tongue cleaning the mess that he caused. Stiles moaned, a hand gripping the back of Derek’s neck. “I want to blow you,” Stiles whispered. Derek groaned, shifting in the small space. 

“Don’t see how that would work-” Derek head tilted up, towards the direction of the door, his eyes narrowing. Stiles looked too, despite the curtain and the fact that he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Stiles reached up behind him, under his pillow where he put his glasses, finding them and slipping them on easily. 

“What is it?”

“Chris-” Derek rumbled in a growl, angry that they were about to be interrupted. He turned his face towards Stiles, kissing him on the cheek, pushing his nose against him. Stiles smiled, his eyes fluttering closed for just a second. “I’ve got to put pants on-”

“You’ve got a boner, Derek.” 

“Chris ruined it,” Derek grunted. 

“I ruined what?” Chris asked from the aisle. “Did I interrupt something?” 

“Yes,” both Stiles and Derek said, monotoned. Chris chuckled to himself. 

“Well, I am here to tell you that we are delaying in leaving until afternoon-”

“-What?!” Stiles asked, opening the curtain so he could see Chris Argent looking down at him. “Why? We are almost there!” 

“Because it was requested that we have time to go through everything we found in the RVs, to ration it out and to finish doing laundry... who knows when we could have a water hook up again. There hasn’t been any sign of the undead since we arrived, since-”

“Since I almost died,” Stiles supplied. Chris, looking grave, nodded. 

“The doctor wants to see you, Stiles, and Derek... I was wondering if you could patrol with me, keep an eye out on things until we set off.” As an answer, Derek shifted. He licked Stiles once, on the cheek, then hopped out of the bunk, looking at Chris for only a second, then trotted out of the RV. Chris raised an eyebrow at Stiles. “I don’t even get a hello?” Stiles bit his lip. 

“You did... interrupt something,” Stiles said, feeling his skin flush. Chris didn’t even flinch. “I’ll get up in a second and make my way to Dr. Deaton.” 

“Can you get up alright?” Chris asked. 

“It’s my stomach, Chris, it isn’t my fucking legs,” Stiles chided. Chris smirked, then walked away, leaving Stiles alone in the RV. Stiles rubbed at his eyes as he took a long, deep breath. It took Stiles a while to get to Dr. Deaton. He was sore and stiff, he hissed through clenched teeth as he walked into the designated RV. The vet was seated at the table, drinking a cup of coffee. Stiles cleared his throat, getting his attention while trying not to think about all of these luxuries that were about to be taken from them once more. Dr. Deaton greeted Stiles with a warm smile. 

“Come, sit, let me take a look at you,” he said as he got up to wash his hands before tending to Stiles. Stiles sat up on the table, taking off his dad’s jacket and tossing it aside. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt, since he hadn’t gotten his back from the laundry yet. 

“I think I may have cracked a rib?” Stiles said, his voice rising a bit as the doctor’s fingers pressed against bruised flesh. 

“Wouldn’t surprise me in the least,” the doctor murmured. “It isn’t healing as fast as I would like...” Stiles looked down and understood what Dr. Deaton was talking about. The flesh was red, inflamed, angry looking. 

“Should I be worried?” Stiles asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as shaky as he felt. Stiles gripped the side of the table tightly, his knuckles white. The doctor shook his head slowly. 

“I could clean it again, but right now let’s just hope that where ever we are headed? That they have medical supplies.” Stiles swallowed, licking his lips slowly. 

“Are you thinking it is infected?” Stiles asked. 

“We’ll know soon enough, have Derek sniff you whenever you two are around each other, to see-”

“Sniff me?”

“He would be able to smell something off about you, about your scent.” 

“That will only make him want to coddle me more,” Stiles said, his jaw clenched. 

“Well, maybe you should let him.” 

By the time laundry was finished, lunch was served, and everything was packed up, the sun was high in the sky and Stiles was miserable as he waited not so patiently to get on the road. He had clean jeans on, a new shirt that was found and given to him by Allison, along with a new pair of shoes. It felt wrong, wearing some dead person’s things but it was better than the old ratty shirt that was threadbare and would forever smell of dirt and sweat thanks to the weeks of wear Stiles had gotten out of it. He kept his red hoodie, though, not letting Erica toss it. 

Stiles had on his new shirt, covering the bandage that Dr. Deaton had reapplied, along with his dad’s jacket. Derek still wasn’t back from doing whatever with Chris Argent, so Stiles sat with Erica and Allison, who were going through the things that they gathered. Allison tossed Stiles a book, _1984_. 

“Really? This is the most depressing book ever-”

“It was that or _Twilight_ ,” Allison said, smirking. 

“Man, this is such a good book, thank you for scrounging for it, Allison,” Stiles said, sarcasm dripping through his words as he flipped through it. “I would rather live through a zombie apocalypse than live through big brother, got to admit,” Stiles mumbled to himself as he started reading, biting at his thumb nail as his eyes skimmed over the words. 

“These sweaters are horrible,” Erica said, lifting one as she made a face. 

“Yeah, but they looked warm and it is about to get really, really cold,” Allison said, tossing one at Stiles. “I got you one too.” Stiles made a face because his had a Christmas tree on it. 

“The fuck? I am not wearing-” 

“Yes, you are,” Allison said, her voice resolute. “Because we aren’t freezing.”

“I have a werewolf to cuddle up to,” Stiles said, shoving the sweater away from himself. Allison raised her eyebrows.

“So do I, but I am not wrapping my arms around Erica every second of the day. You will thank me later for that sweater.” 

“Whatever,” Stiles scoffed, flipping the page then adjusting his glasses. 

“I found powdered shampoo, which will come in handy,” Erica said, setting it out on the table. “And Clue.” Stiles’ ears perked up. 

“I love Clue,” he said, looking at the banged up, used game that Erica brought out. “Seriously, when I was little I was obsessed with it. Scott wouldn’t-” Stiles stopped mid sentence, looking up at Allison who was slowly folding her new clothes. She sighed, shaking her head once, then looked up at Stiles, smiling.

“Tell me, Stiles. Tell me about you and Scott, when you were little.” Stiles licked his lips, looking to Erica for help. Erica shrugged. 

“He got sick of playing Clue with me. It is a rather boring game if you play it with two people. Uh, shitty story... sorry.” 

“It’s okay... just... don’t not tell me stories, alright? I want to hear you talk about him.” Stiles nodded, closing the book. He didn’t feel much like reading it. It would only end up depressing him. Thankfully, Derek showed up to distract them. 

“Alright, pack up everything, we’re getting ready to head out,” he said, looking around at all of the newly acquired things. Stiles grabbed his book and sweater, putting them in his duffel bag. Allison bid them goodbye, since she was going to be in the scout vehicle with her dad. Erica climbed into her bunk with _Twilight_ , leaving Derek and Stiles alone. Derek sat down in the drivers seat, looking to Stiles. 

“What did Dr. Deaton say?” Derek asked. Stiles shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stood near Derek. 

“Nothing really, I’ve probably got a cracked rib...” Stiles debated telling Derek about the possible infection. He didn’t want to tell him, he wanted Derek to not worry about him, but if he would be able to smell it on him anyways... “Derek?” Stiles asked. Derek raised an eyebrow, waiting for Stiles to continue. “Do I smell off to you?” Derek’s brow creased as he reached out, pulling Stiles towards him by his belt loops. Stiles’ hand automatically went to Derek’s head, his fingers raking through his hair as Derek pressed his nose against Stiles’ torso, his eyes closing. Derek moved his face slowly, his mouth ghosting across Stiles’ shirt, sucking in air as his hands slid upwards, holding onto Stiles’ hips. Stiles gasped when Derek’s tongue licked against the hem of his boxers, his shirt pushed up just enough to bare a sliver of skin. Stiles yanked on Derek’s hair just enough to get his attention, pushing Derek’s head away from his body. Derek’s eyes opened, his mouth open, his pupils blown. 

“You smell fine, normal. Is that a new shirt?” Derek asked, his brow creased. “It doesn’t smell like yours.” Stiles smiled down at Derek, releasing his grip on his hair. Derek’s hands didn’t move, though. “Why do you ask? Does Deaton think your wound is getting infected?” Stiles bit his lip, nodding his head. 

“He wants you to keep checking me-”

“Alright, I will,” Derek whispered. Chris came over the walkie talkie, letting Derek know that he and Allison were headed North, to give them ten minutes before Derek lead the way behind them. Derek looked to Stiles, handing him the walkie talkie. “I want you near me,” Derek said, unashamed. Stiles smiled, nodding his head once. The closest place to sit was at the table. Stiles sat facing Derek, taking out a pack of cards that he found in one of the drawers, shuffling them to start to play solitaire. 

The drive was easy, relaxing. Erica joined Stiles in a game of slap jack that turned violent fast, then they decided to read their books together because Derek said that their screams were distracting him. Erica had her head in Stiles’ lap, her legs hanging over the edge of the booth as she read _Twilight_ , laughing as she said certain lines out loud that she found hilarious. Stiles pushed his way through _1984_ , thinking about how when he read it in 9th grade he had been sure that the government was already watching them. He didn’t watch TV for a month. Now, Stiles wished for TV, for movies, for books and libraries, for internet and netflix. There was no use in wishing, though. Wishing did nothing for them now. 

Just before sundown, Chris came over the walkie talkie and startled Stiles and Erica, who had fallen asleep in Stiles’ lap. 

“Come in Venom, this is Deathstar,” Chris’ voice rang out through the silent RV. 

“This is Venom, go ahead,” Stiles said, his eyes on Derek whose shoulders were set straight. He was listening intently to them. 

“We’ve reached the hunters, they’re here, alive and have granted us permission to enter.” Stiles closed his eyes and sighed audibly. 

“And? Are they secure? Are we allowed to-”

“Yes. You and I are to talk to the leader once you arrive with everyone else.” Stiles’ brow furrowed in confusion. 

“You mean you and Derek, right?” Stiles asked. 

 

“No, Stilinski, you and me.” Stiles looked to Derek, but he couldn’t see his face. 

“Did you hear-”

“Yes, I did. Tell him we’re on our way to them.” Stiles did as Derek asked, then made Erica get off of him so he could join Derek. Stiles held onto the dashboard as he crouched down next to Derek, gripping Derek’s seat with his other hand to steady himself. 

“Derek, why would Chris want me to go with him?” Stiles asked. Derek’s jaw clenched as he looked ahead. “Derek-”

“Because he said you’re our leader,” Derek whispered, his eyes glancing at Stiles for only a second before returning to the road. Stiles laughed, his hand going to Derek’s thigh, patting it playfully. “I’m serious, so is he. We don’t have time to discuss this right now, Stiles-” 

“I’m not a leader, Derek. You’re the alpha.” 

“And I don’t have a pack, Stiles. I have Erica.”

“And me, and Allison-”

“Stiles we aren’t discussing pack dynamics right now and how I am not _your_ alpha.” Stiles swallowed, clearing his throat. “Stiles, I defer to you and you know it.” 

Stiles looked back at Erica, who was suddenly too engrossed in her book, slumped down in the booth so her face could barely be seen. Stiles’ hand on Derek’s thigh tightened, shaking Derek a bit as he shook his head. 

“No, I’m not... I’m not in charge. Chris is, he-”

“Does what you suggest all the time,” Derek supplied. Stiles shut his eyes, squeezing them and rubbing at them with his other hand. “Just go with him, Stiles.”

“I’m not leaving your side, surrounded by hunters. That is... not happening. Not until I know what their plans are with you.” 

“I don’t think they are going to talk to Chris without you-”

“I’m just a kid, Derek!” Stiles said, his eyes wide. Derek looked at Stiles, shaking his head. 

“You are not, Stiles. We’re almost there, and I’ll be fine. Erica will be fine. Don’t worry about us.” 

Stiles sighed, standing, looking out ahead as a giant barbed wire fence appeared in front of them, the gates open. 

“Are you shitting me?” Stiles asked, “Their base is a prison? What is this? The Walking Dead?” Stiles looked at Derek, who shrugged. “No but seriously, did you read that comic-”

“Stiles, focus.” Stiles sighed. 

“I don’t like this, Derek.” 

“It will keep the dead out,” Derek grumbled, pulling all the way inside so that the rest of the caravan had room behind him.” Stiles watched as the gates closed behind them, how everyone was piling out of their vehicles. “They are waiting on us, Stiles.”

“Kiss me,” Stiles whispered as Derek stood. Derek obliged, his lips pressing against Stiles’ in a short, soft peck. Stiles shuddered out a breath as he looked Derek in the eyes. “I... love you. I just wanted to say that-” 

“Nothing is going to happen, Stiles,” Derek whispered, his nose pressing against Stiles’ cheek. “Go on, you out first. Werewolves last.” Stiles gulped, gingerly walking out of the RV. He took one look back at Derek, gathering courage. Derek mouthed the words he had wanted to hear so desperately, mimicking what he had just told Derek himself, for the first time. Stiles smiled, gaining the confidence to step forward. His eyes landed on Chris Argent, off ahead of everyone else, standing next to men with guns, all dressed in black. They looked intimidating and Stiles felt his age, barely eighteen, as he shuffled forward slowly, hand at his side in hopes to keep the pain at bay. 

“This is Stilinski?” A man asked, his voice wary. Chris Argent nodded his head, once. 

“It is. Stiles, this is Bishop, he is in charge here.” Stiles stuck his hand out in a greeting. Bishop grinned, shaking Stiles’ hand. His grip was tight, bone crushing. Stiles didn’t so much as grit his teeth. 

“Chris tells me you’re in charge.”

“That’s me,” Stiles said, his voice not sounding like his own. To him, in that moment, he sounded like his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have a lot of feelings about this chapter and I... yep. A lot of feelings.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: BAMF!Stiles? Does this need a warning? No, but I love Stiles in this fic. (IDK about you guys!)

“Follow me, then,” Bishop said, turning towards one of the buildings. Stiles looked back at Derek and Erica, now joined by Allison. Stiles jumped as Chris Argent’s hand went up to his shoulder, guiding him inside. “Chris tells me you were hurt.”

“I, uh, got slashed in the stomach by a werezombie,” Stiles muttered, his hand on his stomach instinctually. “I shot it in the head right after its claws got me.”

“And you aren’t infected?” Bishop asked, an eyebrow arching. Stiles shrugged. 

“Do I look dead to you?” Stiles asked, his voice snappy. Chris gave him a look as if telling him to no push Bishop’s buttons. “Our doc tells me I am fine, but if you have someone-”

“We don’t,” Bishop cut Stiles off. “But if you have a doctor they would be most welcome here.”

“We also have a nurse,” Stiles supplied freely. “And some good shots, Chris and myself included.” Bishop nodded as they entered the building, lit by candles. “And-”

“Let me cut right to the chase, Stilinski,” Bishop said, crossing his arms as he blocked the door. The hair on Stiles’ arms stood on edge, a shiver threatened to cascade down his spine. “Are you, or are you not, traveling with werewolves?” Chris bristled beside Stiles. 

“Bishop, I told you they-”

“I am talking to your leader, Argent.” Bishop’s eyes were narrowed, piercing through Stiles. Stiles gulped, nodding his head once. 

“Two.” His mouth was dry and when he tried to lick his lips it did nothing. 

“Which are they?” Stiles shook his head. 

“Why? They are trustworthy, they have saved our entire group twice over. Most of the pack was killed protecting these humans, protecting us.” 

“We can’t allow them to remain here, it isn’t safe for any of-”

“Stop right there,” Stiles said, his fists clenching. “And listen to what I have to say,” he said, taking a step towards Bishop. “Our werewolves? Are staying. If you want our doctor, our nurse... if you want Chris and me? Yeah, the wolves stay too. We come as a package and my guess is? You are in need of a doctor.” 

“You can’t make those demands,” Bishop said, stepping into Stiles’ personal space. 

“Can’t I? I’m the one with the doctor, asshole.” 

“I’m the one with the guns and the provisions. We haven’t had a zombie breach our gates in over a week and a half-”

“I don’t give a fuck about that shit,” Stiles spat as he looked to Chris, then back to Bishop. “It is all or nothing, the werewolves aren’t being cast out.” Bishop looked like he wanted to hit Stiles. Instead, he smiled. Stiles was unnerved by it, he refused to relax despite Bishop taking a step away from him. 

“You have to understand that almost everyone within these walls is a hunter-”

“I understand that perfectly. What you need to understand is they aren’t the enemy, mother fucking zombies are,” Stiles hissed, his teeth gnawing on his bottom lip as his hands flailed around angrily. “I’m not giving you my werewolves if you are just going to fucking shoot them with wolfsbane bullets, which I am guessing you have.” Bishop looked to Chris, an eyebrow lifted. 

“Bishop, trust him, and me. These weres, they haven’t spilt human blood. We stand by the code.” 

“There is no code anymore. This is survival of the fittest and werewolves? Are no longer tolerated. I am not about to make an exception for-” As Stiles’ knuckles impacted with the side of Bishop’s jaw he swore he heard something crack. The first thing Stiles felt was pain, the second was Chris grabbing him, pulling him back. Stiles shrugged Chris off of him, launching himself at Bishop again. Bishop punched him twice in the stomach, knowing that was where he was hurt. Stiles’ eyes watered but he managed to tackle Bishop, bending back two fingers, hearing them snap then grabbing Bishop by the throat as Stiles straddled him, leaning over so that his face was near Bishops’, his eyes narrow and lip set in a snarl. 

“You listen to me, you piece of shit hunter,” Stiles said, gasping, ignoring the feel of blood dripping down his shirt, the intense pain of probably another cracked rib, of his ripped stitches. “This is my fucking pack, you hear me? I am not breaking up my pack,” Stiles growled, tightening his grip. “If you don’t want us here? We’ll leave. All of us. You don’t have many people here, barely twenty, not enough to cover watch in a place this big, let alone keep it safe. I could take you, and your fucking hunters down, if I wanted to. Two werewolves could snap every neck of you and your hunters before you knew what happened. We came here for sanctuary,” Stiles’ eyes glanced towards Chris, whose gun was drawn. It was pointed at Bishop, not at Stiles. “I could kill you right now. You say there is no code? Fuck the code? I’m not opposed to saying the same fucking thing.”

“Stiles, think,” Chris murmured. Stiles didn’t let up, his grip staying just as tight, unrelenting. He did look up, though. “You can’t kill him, Stiles.” Stiles’ jaw clenched as he released Bishop’s neck. Bishop sputtered, gasping for air as Stiles rolled off of him, wincing and grabbing his stomach. “Bishop, we didn’t come to fight, we came for safety, we are safer in bigger numbers. All we ask is you leave our werewolves alone.”

“You think after that stunt that he just pulled, that I would allow that?” Chris looked to Stiles, his eyelids heavy, skin pale. Bishop held his hand with the broken fingers against his chest. 

“That is what happens when you threaten to kill our leader’s boyfriend,” Chris said, raising an eyebrow. “You get two broken fingers and a death threat of your own.” Bishop’s eyes widened and Stiles rolled his eyes, looking to Chris, his head tilted. 

“I need Deaton, Chris,” Stiles mumbled. Chris nodded once, his gun still pointed at Bishop. 

“One minute, Stiles, we have to settle this.” Stiles nodded at Chris’ words. “Bishop? In or out? Do we need to go?” Bishop glared at Stiles, but shook his head. 

“We need the doctor, and the bodies to keep this place safe.” 

“What about the werewolves?” Stiles asked through gritted teeth. 

“I have to discuss what to do with them with my crew, we aren’t-”

“No, you don’t have time to meet and discuss how to kill them,” Stiles said, stepping forward once more, his heart rate picking up. “You don’t get to choose to keep the doctor but go around behind my back to plan to kill two of my people.”

“They aren’t people-”

“God, fucking dammit!” Stiles screamed, “Yes they are!” he roared. “I am fucking leaving,” Stiles started towards the door, his free hand reaching out to take hold of the door frame. “Chris you talk, I am done.” 

Stiles left Chris in the room to discuss conditions with Bishop, his hand sliding slowly against the wall as he made his way back outside. As soon as he was through the doors, Derek was by his side. Stiles fell against him, his head pressing against Derek’s shoulder. 

“What happened?” Derek asked, his voice strained. Stiles laughed, rolling his head back and forth across Derek’s broad shoulder. 

“Popped my stitches,” Stiles muttered. “Sorry.” Dr. Deaton came forward, ushering both Stiles and Derek back to his RV. 

“Stiles, your knuckles...” Derek whispered, taking Stiles’ hand, his thumb grazing over the bruising, where the skin split open, blood trickling down Stiles’ fingers. “What happened in there?” Stiles laughed again, shaking his hand out of Derek’s grasp, flexing his fingers as he looked down at his hand, his heart still beating fast. “You’re on an adrenaline rush, what-”

“Not out here,” Stiles said, looking around at the hunters surrounding them, looking at them. “I don’t trust them,” Stiles stumbled, tripping over his own feet for just a second. Derek held onto him, bringing Stiles’ arm over his shoulder in order to hold him up. “Don’t let them know you are a werewolf, or Erica.” Derek raised his eyebrows, but nodded once in understanding. 

Derek turned on Deaton’s RV so that they could have light while Tara stripped Stiles of his jacket and shirt. 

“Can’t seem to keep my shirts lately,” Stiles laughed, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. He sucked in a breath as Tara cleaned his reopened wound, as Dr. Deaton checked his knuckles. 

“So you got in a fight with the leader, then?” Dr. Deaton asked. Stiles shrugged. 

“You could say that-”

“Stiles, we can’t afford that,” Derek chided, his arms crossing. Stiles bit his bottom lip, clearing his throat as he watched Tara work. 

“We need to discuss what... what we talked about before, the other day,” Stiles said vaguely, to Derek. Derek raised his eyebrows. Stiles looked to Deaton. “They want you and Tara, they don’t have a doctor here.”

“Do they have supplies?” Deaton asked. Stiles shrugged. 

“I don’t know, Chris may get that out of him... he will probably be showing up soon. You need to set Bishops fingers-” 

“Stiles!” Derek barked, making Stiles flinch. “You broke his fingers?” 

“And maybe his nose? Or his jaw? Not his jaw because he could still talk, but I heard a crack-”

“What the fuck?”

“He doesn’t want you and Erica here, Derek!” Stiles snapped. “He talked about killing you, right in front of me, like you meant nothing. You mean everything and he just... talked about taking you out back and shooting you like you were some rabid dog,” Stiles was hyperventilating, his chest heaving. “I just... fucking snapped. I punched him, broke his fingers, then almost....” Stiles closed his eyes as he trailed off. He felt Derek’s hand on his head and took a deep breath. “I almost killed him.”

“And Chris is talking to him?” Derek asked, his voice even. Stiles nodded, looking up at Derek, expecting anger in his facial features. Instead, he found apathy, which scared him. “I’ll go find them,” Derek said, walking out of the RV. 

Derek walked into the building that Stiles had just come from and could automatically hear Chris Argent’s voice carrying through the hallways. He followed the voices until he found them, Bishop holding his hand gingerly as Chris talked to him and two other men. When Derek walked in, they all stood on edge except Chris, who had a gun in his hand, but it was resting against his thigh, his finger not even on the trigger. Derek lifted an eyebrow.

“Did I interrupt something?” He asked nonchalantly. Chris smiled at him, amused. 

“We are discussing terms-”

“Shouldn’t Stiles be here, then?” Derek asked. Bishop grunted to himself as Derek eyed him. 

“You must be the wolf-”

“The alpha, yeah, that’s me,” Derek said, standing at his full height and dropping his arms, his palms out as if ready to shift. “I’m here as Stiles’ second.”

“You let a human lead you?’ Bishop asked, a smirk playing across his face. Derek’s lips pursed as he took a step forward, towards Bishop, but Chris stepped in the way, blocking Derek’s way. 

“We aren’t discussing pack dynamics right now,” Chris said, looking between Derek and Bishop. “We are talking about a truce, a way that we can all survive this, together.” 

“Stiles already voiced his concerns, his wants,” Chris continued on, “He only asked that the werewolves were to be left alone-”

“Should be shot dead,” one of the other hunters in the room grumbled. Derek narrowed his eyes but said nothing. “They are only going to turn on us.”

“Do you know how fast it is for a werewolf to kill a zombie, without using bullets?” Derek asked. “Did you know that we can rip their heads of with our bare hands?” The hunters shook their heads, not really wanting to speak to Derek but unable to keep from listening to what he had to say. “We are good fighters, and with our sense of smell, we would make good scouts. Both Erica and I, yes, the other werewolf is a girl,” Derek said as a hunter tried to interrupt him, “and we can help. We aren’t rabid animals that need to be put down. We are an asset, especially in a situation like this, where you need scouts not only in the watch towers, which is how I am guessing you are watching the area?” The hunters nodded. 

“We don’t have the manpower to do more than that-”

“Well, now you do,” Derek stated. “We won’t survive this without help, no one will. So either shoot me now, or fucking buck up and learn to trust werewolves.” Chris sucked in a breath, as the hunters looked at each other. One raised his gun, pointing it at Derek. Derek didn’t move though, he just stared him down. “Shoot me with your normal gun and normal bullet and see how long you last.” The hunter faltered, lowering his gun. 

“We need assurances, though,” Bishop spoke up, “that you won’t attack on the full moon, which is soon.” 

“This is a prison, isn’t it?” Derek asked. 

“Derek, don’t offer that-” Chris began, but was cut off by Derek. 

“I am sure there is somewhere to put Erica and I-”

“No,” Stiles’ voice rang out as he stood at the doorway, clutching his side. Everyone looked at him as he entered with Dr. Deaton behind him. “You and Erica haven’t needed to be chained up on the full moon since the world went to hell, why would you do it now?” Stiles asked. Dr. Deaton walked over to Bishop, setting a tool box down that he had packed full of supplies. Bishop let Dr. Deaton take care of him as he watched Stiles stand next to Derek. 

“If it means that we can stay, I don’t have an issue with keeping their minds at ease once a month.”

“Not just on the full moon,” Bishop said, nonchalantly. “We suggest shock collars-”

“Oh, fuck no,” Stiles said, his voice rising. “Again with the whole ‘they aren’t rabid dogs’ scenario. Am I like a broken record over here?” He asked. Derek put a hand on Stiles’ neck, calming him down. 

“No shock collars,” Derek said, his voice low and dangerous. “That puts too much in your hands, how will we know if you abuse it or not?” Stiles reached over and gripped Derek’s shirt. 

“You’re going to have to trust us.”

“You have to trust _us_ ,” Stiles said his voice even but firm. “You aren’t collaring them, they aren’t slaves.” 

“But we can do something on the full moon,” Derek countered. Stiles looked at him, not pleased, but didn’t say anything. The hunters looked at eachother, then back at Chris, Derek, and Stiles. 

“Can we have time alone, to discuss?” They asked. Stiles opened his mouth, but Derek said that they could before Stiles could get a word in edgewise. 

Derek, Stiles, and Chris waited outside of the room. Derek, of course, could hear every word they were saying but he wasn’t relaying it to either Stiles or Chris, which had Stiles perturbed as he shuffled his feet across the floor, knocking dirt around. 

“You couldn’t find another shirt?” Derek asked, bringing up a new topic. Stiles scoffed, gnawing on his bottom lip. 

“I wanted to rush back, I put my jacket on, though,” Stiles mumbled. “Besides, I’m not cold.” Derek’s hand shot up, pressing the back of his palm against Stiles’ forehead. Stiles shrugged him off, swatting his hand away. “Stop coddling me, I am fine.”

“You have a fever,” Derek whispered. “That isn’t good-”

“I said I am fine,” Stiles snapped. “A fever is nothing compared to how they want to _lock you up and put a collar on you_. I say we leave, just go. This isn’t worth it.”

“It is worth it, Stiles. We can’t keep running,” Derek said, sighing. 

“That isn’t what you said the other day.” 

“Really?” Chris asked. “You two were thinking about leaving the group?”

“Yes,” Stiles hissed out even though Derek was glaring at him. “Before you said I was the leader, we were... going to just... drop you guys off and go at it alone.” 

“But with your pack?” Chris asked. Stiles nodded, looking down as he shuffled his feet. 

“Allison, we weren’t sure... about you and Allison. But it doesn’t matter now, because I messed up and got injured and now apparently I was secretly in charge and didn’t know it, so.” 

“If you guys don’t want to be here-”

“It is smart, staying,” Derek whispered. “More people to be on watch, to kill zombies. Being near Deaton and Tara is important, especially seeing how easy it is for... we aren’t going anywhere. I don’t mind being locked in a cell on a full moon, or fuck it, wear a collar if someone trigger happy isn’t the one on the other end if it means keeping the pack, keeping Stiles safe.” Stiles didn’t say anything as he stared at the ground. Chris watched the two of them in silence as they waited for the hunters to say their verdict. 

Eventually, they emerged with Dr. Deaton in tow. Stiles stood up, his attention on the three hunters. 

“You can stay, if on full moons the werewolves are locked up, and if the days leading up to the full moon they were collars.” Stiles bristled beside Derek, his eyes widening in anger. 

“I accept,” Derek whispered. “As long as Stiles is the one with the buzzer to shock my beta and I.” The hunters exchanged glances. “If not him, then Chris.” 

“Since you are mated to-”

“We aren’t mates,” Stiles snapped. “Just because-”

“Chris Argent can be the one to shock us, then,” Derek said, sidelining Stiles’ tangent on how werewolves could be with someone without that person being their mate, and how mating with a human was basically unheard of. Derek was sure that the hunters didn’t care to hear about that, at the moment. “We will get you a list of our able bodied, to mix them in with your watch duty lists. Erica and I can split night shifts in half, so there is always a wolf on patrol.”

“This sounds fair,” Bishop said, vehemence still showing in his voice towards Derek and Stiles. Derek didn’t blame him, considering Stiles’ behavior. “We will pass out a new watch list in the morning. It is past dark, now. We need to set up places for your people to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented/found me on tumblr and left me lovely messages! It really means a lot :>


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles tossed and turned all night long, alone in a cell. They were housed in a cellblock, along with the other hunters. Occupying one cellblock was easiest, to keep people safe. Stiles’ cell was on the end, farthest from the entrance. He was sharing it with Erica and Derek, but both of them decided to be on watch, to sniff out any lingering zombies in the prison in case of a surprise attack. Derek had insisted that Stiles rest. 

Stiles couldn’t sleep, despite Dr. Deaton giving him enough drugs to knock out a horse. Stiles felt fuzzy, to be honest, but his mind wouldn’t quiet. Allison had spent time with him, after eating what was their first full, hot meal in ages. They weren’t scared of fires, here, with the barbed wire fence keeping them safe. Stiles couldn’t believe the stock of food that was in the cafeteria, the canned goods. He had eaten until he felt like he was going to burst. Stiles was unnerved by the fact that he could hear snoring, sniffling, whispering, people tossing and turning, the squeaking of mattresses. He didn’t like the fact that he was in a cell, alone, on a mattress covered by a real blanket. Stiles hits his head against his pillow over and over again as someone down the line coughs, then someone sneezes. Stiles swears under his breath as the cough continues and people start stirring because of it. He thinks about taking another pill, hoping it would push him into a drugged sleep state where he won’t hear anything, wouldn’t be aware of anything. He wasn’t in pain, not really, but not sleeping surrounded by people but being so alone made his mind wander to the past. Being in a bunk bed reminded him of Scott, somehow, despite the fact that neither of them had had bunk beds when they were young. Stiles’ breath hitched in his throat as thoughts and memories of Scott flooded his mind. Stiles pushed at his eyes with the palms of his hands, willing them away. His chest heaving slightly, he realized that he was starting to hyperventilate. Scott, Mrs. McCall, his father, Lydia, Jackson, Isaac, Boyd, Peter Hale, his dentist, his father’s deputies.... everyone was dead. Sometimes he forgot, or pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He wanted to be numb, he wanted to not care.

He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t forget them, or the fact that Scott died protecting him. He couldn’t forget the last time he saw his father, gun in hand, telling Derek to keep Stiles safe. Derek kept his word. Stiles remembered trying to go after his dad, screaming as Derek and Scott held on to him. Why hadn’t his father asked Scott to take care of him? Thinking back on it now, Stiles knew his father was aware that he and Derek were together, despite them keeping it a secret. It didn’t matter now, that his father knew, but before everything went to hell they had been so scared. They thought that the Sheriff wouldn’t have approved, Stiles had lied to him. 

Stiles lied to his father a lot. It was something that he would have to live with, the lies. Sure, the Sheriff found out about werewolves, but it was on more of a need to know basis. As in, there were alphas in town and the Sheriff needed to fucking know that his son had been kidnapped by them. But that was beside the point, now. Everything was moot, nothing mattered in the long run about the past. 

There was only survival or death, now. 

Stiles gasped for air, his eyes open wide as his chest heaved. He covered his mouth with his hand as the other clutched at his sweat drenched shirt. He was having a panic attack. He had tears running down his cheeks and his lips were cracked, dry. He was parched but he couldn’t move. He had a bottle of water by his bed, but he was paralyzed, alone. Stiles shut his eyes but only saw his father, his mother, Scott. He bit his lip, shaking his head. 

Stiles almost screamed when he felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him slightly. Stiles flailed, making his ribs hurt, his hand bursting out, impacting something hard. 

“Stiles, Stiles calm down, breathe, its me,” Derek’s voice rang out, higher pitched than normal. He sounded worried. Stiles shook his head, blinking his eyes repeatedly, trying to get them to focus before realizing his glasses were off. Stiles looked around, feeling his face, gasping for air as he licked his lips. 

“Glasses, where are my glasses?” He asked, his voice rough and cracked. Derek put them on Stiles, his hand stilling on Stiles’ cheek. Stiles let out a long, slow sigh. 

“You look sick,” Derek whispered, his hand moving to Stiles’ forehead. Stiles moved his head away, tired of being coddled by Derek. 

“Stop it, I’m not sick,” Stiles said, sitting up. Pain shot through his side but he ignored it. “Is watch finished?” Stiles asked, grabbing his bottle of water and downing most of it. 

“Yes, but we aren’t ignoring the fact that you were having a panic attack-”

“Yeah, we are. It wasn’t an attack, anyways. I was going to be fine, I just needed a minute-”

“I could hear your heart rate before I got onto the cellblock,” Derek hissed, his voice low but commanding. Stiles grit his teeth, but looked down at his soaked shirt. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Stiles whispered, biting his lower lip as he looked up at Derek who was crouched down beside the bed. “I started thinking about everything,” Stiles sighed audibly, “about my dad, Scott, my mom, Scott’s mom... what the fuck are we doing, Derek?” Stiles asked. “What if we just stopped? Can we stop. I am so fucking tired, I haven’t slept more than three or four hours a night since everything started and I just... I can’t-”

Derek’s hands reached out to Stiles, pulling him in for a hug, Derek’s arms wrapped around him and Stiles shut his eyes, relaxing against Derek’s chest. 

“We are stopping, here. You can rest, you can sleep. You need to heal, I want you to get better.” Stiles nodded against Derek’s shoulder, sniffling back his emotions as his fingers held tight to Derek’s shirt. Derek pushed away from Stiles slowly, tugging at his shirt. “Come on, you need to get out of this.” Stiles let Derek rid him of his sweaty shirt, Derek’s nose and hands pressing against his bare flesh as he pushed Stiles back against the bed, Derek crawling on top of him carefully. Derek mouthed against Stiles’ neck as he slipped onto the bed next to Stiles, their legs tangling together easily. “We can sleep, we don’t need to worry anymore.” Stiles’ hand found Derek’s and squeezed it, his eyes shutting as he concentrated on Derek’s breathing. Eventually, he fell asleep. 

Derek woke up to banging, to yelling and scurrying. He could smell the panic as he untangled himself from Stiles’ sleeping form. Derek stood, reaching up to the top bunk and shaking Erica awake. 

“Erica, get up, we’re being attacked,” he growled. Stiles was stirring, waking up. Derek felt the need to protect Stiles wash over him, but he knew that he would need to push it aside. Chris appeared by the door to their cell, his gun in his hands. 

“Remember a few days back, that hoard of zombies you and Stiles ran across?” Derek slowly nodded his head. “Well, I’m not saying that this is the same one, but... that gate may not hold-” shots began to be fired and hunters were yelling back and forth so loud that Derek could hear. Derek saw Stiles sit up out of the corner of his eye and tensed. 

“How many? The same? Are we going to be overrun?” Stiles asked, getting up, grabbing his discarded shirt and pulling it over his head. He grabbed his dad’s jacket, swinging it on as he shuffled into his shoes and grabbed his bat. Derek growled deep in his chest, his jaw clenching. Stiles was still hurt, he could tell by the way he moved, how he held himself, by the grimace on his face. Stiles looked at him, his eyes set with determination. Derek knew he couldn’t say anything that would change Stiles’ mind about this, about putting himself on the line. Derek kept his thoughts to himself. 

“There are... no one has counted, but they know fresh meat lies within these gates,” Chris said, looking between the three of them. “I have Allison headed to one of the watchtowers with her cross bow, Stiles-”

“Derek, you and Erica should be wolfed out,” Stiles said, interrupting Chris, who was about to send Stiles up there with Allison. Derek nodded, keeping his mouth shut. He knew Stiles wouldn’t go up there, out of harms way. Stiles was going to be on the ground, with him, fighting with his bare hands. The panic stricken Stiles that Derek had walked in on the night before was pushed aside, forgotten about as Stiles, the leader took charge and stood before them. Stiles pushed past Chris, looking over his shoulder at Derek, beckoning him to follow. Derek shifted, running after Stiles to catch up, with Erica on his heels. 

Stiles ran down the stairs and out into the sunlight, his breath coming out in puffs that he could see against the crisp morning sun. It smelled like death to him, zombies en masse just outside the gates. Stiles ran towards his RV, hoping to find his shotgun. He heard Derek scramble up the stairs of the RV, his claws scraping against the flooring. 

“Derek, get out there!” Stiles shouted, pointing towards the gates. Derek whined, pawing at the floor, shaking his head. Stiles groaned, but said nothing as he ripped open the duffel bag with their spare ammo. “I swear to god if you follow me around-” Stiles stopped mid sentence because Derek was pressing his head against Stiles’ leg. Stiles’ hand reached out subconsciously, his fingers raking through Derek’s fur. “I know, I know. You are protecting me, but these people? Our people, they need protection more than me. I can hold my own and you know it, so get the fuck out there and kill some mother fucking zombies,” Stiles said, pushing Derek’s muzzle away from him. Derek snorted, licking the back of Stiles’ hand once before bounding out of the RV. Stiles grinned to himself as he loaded his shotgun, then pocketed as much ammo as he could. 

He had to leave his bat behind. 

Stiles walked up to the gate and took aim. One. Two. Two down. Stiles reloaded in quick succession, taking down two more. He breathed through his mouth, licking his lips, not letting his fear consume him. So much yelling, so many people running around, he was having a hard time concentrating. 

“Come on, come on,” he whispered to himself as he loaded more shotgun shells into the barrel of his gun. His hands were starting to shake, sweat dripped off of his nose and onto his hands, which made him want to lick his lips, for some reason unknown to him. He looked up, pulling both triggers on his gun, making two more zombies fall. There were so many, too many. Stiles needed something else, he would run out of ammo before they killed all of them. Stiles looked around, up at the watchtower where Allison was taking them down one at a time, he saw Erica using her claws, right up on the gate. Stiles looked around for Derek. He couldn’t find him. 

His heart thumping in his chest, Stiles ran back to the RV, his eyes darting every which way. 

“Derek?” Stiles yelled, knowing that Derek would hear him. Around him, people were scrambling, running around. Most were helping, some were gathering everything that they could and bringing it into the prison. Stiles knew if the zombies breached the gate that they would be done for. Stiles caught site of Chris and ran towards him. “Chris, we have to go,” Stiles got out between pants. Chris eyed him, then looked around. “Find Deaton and Tara, tell them to get food and gather supplies and get everything into our RV.”

“Are you sure?-”

“Yes, the gates aren’t going to last. We’re going to die in here if we don’t get out,” Stiles hissed. “We need to get out while we can.”

Chris nodded once, then put his fingers to his mouth and whistled, getting Allison’s attention, telling her to get down. Chris ran off towards the prison and Stiles continued on his way back to the RV. Instead of going in, he walked around the back, to his Jeep. He opened it, looking for his crowbar. When he found it, he ran back to the gate, near Erica. He dropped the double barrel to the ground and took the crowbar in his hands and jabbed at the gate, getting a zombie in the eye. 

“Erica, find Derek. Tell him we are getting out of here,” Stiles said through gritted teeth. “I don’t know where he is, but he needs to know that as soon as this gate breaks, we aren’t getting trapped in here. This was a mistake.” 

Erica nodded, running off, hot on Derek’s scent. Stiles hoped that Erica found Derek, that Chris got Deaton and Tara in time, that they had time to grab food and medical supplies. Stiles hoped that the gates would hold. 

Stiles jammed the crowbar through the fence again and again, his arms screaming at the repeated action as zombies collapsed, piling up against the gates. Even if they gathered supplies, how were they going to bust out without being eaten alive? 

Coming here had been a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having sort of a tough time IRL right now and this fic is definitely being used as a bit of escapism on my part. I hope those of you who are reading it are enjoying it :)


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles tried not to think too much as he shoved his crowbar over and over through the link fence, his hands covered in zombie guts, splatters of it across his clothes from yanking back once he killed them. He kept his mouth closed, jaw clenched as he shoved it into one zombie’s eye socket, then through another’s mouth. There were more than the herd on the highway days ago, and it had him panicking. It was only a matter of time before they broke through the fence. 

Stiles backed away from the fence when he heard his name being called. He twisted around to see who it was. Allison was running towards him, reaching out for his hand. Without a word, she pulled him towards the RV. Stiles started running with her, surprised when his eyes fell on a zombie inside the gates. No, not one zombie, several. The fence was breached and he hadn’t noticed. He was so swept up in killing what was in front of him, used to screams around him that he hadn’t even noticed how frantic everyone had become. 

With their hands clasped together, Stiles let Allison lead him to the already running RV. As they got in, Stiles fell to the floor clutching his side as he looked around. Erica and Tara were sitting, both looking scared while Dr. Deaton was in the driver’s seat. Stiles looked around, his eyes wide and heart beating out of his chest.

“Where is Chris? Where is Derek?” Stiles asked. 

“I couldn’t find him,” Erica supplied. Stiles got up to get off of the RV, but Dr. Deaton had shut the door and locked it. Stiles gripped the doorknob, glaring at the doctor. 

“Let me off,” he said, his voice rising and cracking. The crowbar was discarded, his bat was by his feet, inches away. 

“Chris said he would find Derek, Stiles,” Allison whispered, her hand gripping Stiles’ wrist tightly. Stiles was breathing carefully through his mouth as he looked out the window, at the zombies slowly filling the prison courtyard. “He won’t leave him.” Stiles pulled his hand away from Allison, freeing himself. He flipped the lock and opened the door, grabbing his bat as he ran, swinging with all his might as he passed by a zombie, bashing its brains in. He didn’t look back to see if anyone followed him, though. All he knew was that he wasn’t leaving without Derek. He couldn’t do it. 

“Derek!” Stiles screamed, wishing that Derek’s alpha form would come bounding around a corner, a zombie’s hand in his mouth or that he would find him chomping at one’s neck, his teeth snarled. “Derek we have to get the fuck out of here, you son of a bitch!” 

Stiles beat the shit out of a zombie, hitting it in the head multiple times as it lay motionless on the ground. He looked up to see Chris Argent running towards him, alone. Stiles’ gut clenched as he shook his head, tears stinging his eyes. Chris’s hand was on his shoulder before he could blink them away. 

“Come on, Stiles, we have to go-”

“No.” Stiles bit his lip, his eyes searching, looking everywhere but at Chris. “I’m not leaving him here.” 

“If we don’t leave now, we won’t be able to get out-”

“I said _I’m_ not leaving him. You go, get them out of here.” 

“No, Stiles. You are coming with us,” Chris said, grabbing onto Stiles’ arm and pulling him back towards the RV. Stiles fought against him, thinking about hitting him with his bat enough to knock Chris away from him. Stiles was being dragged back to the RV, Chris was stronger than he was and was determined to get Stiles to safety. Once they were close enough, Erica grabbed onto Stiles and pulled him inside. 

Stiles was cursing under his breath when he heard the yelp of a wolf. Derek. His eyes widening, he scrambled back to the door where Chris was blocking the way. 

“I’ll go find him and put him in my car,” he said, looking at Stiles. “We’ll follow behind in the expedition. Deaton, get them out of here,” Chris said, shutting the door behind him. Stiles watched as he killed two approaching zombies without even blinking, shooting them square in the head. As the RV started moving, Erica and Allison attempted to bring Stiles to the table, but his chest constricted and he couldn’t breath. He shut his eyes in order to keep the world from spinning, collapsing to the floor, his fist beating against the floor, his knuckles white. He was leaving Derek behind. Derek was hurt, and he left him. 

Stiles was crying, he knew he was, in gasping pants that were nowhere near silent. He heard Deaton tell everyone to hold on, he barely registered driving through the locked gates as Allison and Erica wrapped their arms around him. He felt Allison’s tears on his neck, hot and wet as they rolled down his back. She left her father behind, too. The chances of Chris getting Derek and being able to find them, be able to get out of their alive was basically now zero since they just burst through the gate, welcoming the zombies in en masse. 

Stiles felt someone wiping his hands clean with a wet cloth. He could only assume that it was Tara, but he couldn’t even think straight enough to speak. His vision was blurry, which told him they removed his glasses. He felt numb, like there was no reason for him to be there, alive. He shouldn’t be alive. He should have ran after Derek. 

 

Derek was in pain, a lot of it. He growled at Bishop and his men, who had him surrounded. Why they were stalking him when their camp was being infiltrated by zombies, Derek didn’t know. All he knew was that they had shot him in the leg and he could barely walk, let alone run. He was limping, whimpering whenever he tried to move. He healed faster in alpha form, so he stayed how he was. Also, he couldn’t be turned in this form, so he had to stay. He had heard Stiles calling for him and it had his fur on edge. He needed to get to him, to find him. That was when he heard the crash. Derek snapped his teeth at one of the hunters that tried to come near him, baring his fangs as he snarled at them. Everyone was shouting around them about an RV, about the doctor leaving, about Stiles. Derek’s ears flattened in distress but he didn’t stop snapping his jaws, threatening them when they came nearer with bats and crowbars. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Chris’s voice rang out. “You’re surrounded by zombies and you are circled around an injured Were who is on _your side_? You people disgrace me,” Chris said, aiming his gun at Bishop. “I suggest you flee, now, before it its too late.”

“We know we’re done for. We want to kill one last werewolf before we’re slaughtered,” one of the men rang out. Derek growled again, unmoving to keep from whimpering out in pain. 

“You aren’t killing anything that isn’t already dead,” Chris spat as he cocked his gun. One of the hunters scoffed and raised his gun towards Derek. Chris lifted an eyebrow, then pulled the trigger. He got the hunter in the arm. He dropped the gun immediately. “Let Derek go, you still have time to save yourselves.” Bishop stepped towards Derek, his gun aimed at his head. Derek showed him his teeth, crouching down towards the ground as if ready to pounce. “Bishop-” Chris started but Derek lept, fangs bared. He ripped open his neck, bounding towards Chris as fast as he could. He took one step on his bad leg and collapsed. The other hunters dispersed and Chris fell to his knees next to Derek, his hand in Derek’s fur. 

“Come on, Derek, we just need to get to my car so we can catch up with the others.” Derek whined, his eyes closing before he tried to get up. “I can’t carry you, you’re too big, you have to grin and bear it to the car.” Chris tried as best he could to help Derek up. As he did, Derek shifted into his human form. His arm was what was shot. He clutched it, gasping. 

“Wolfsbane bullet, Chris,” Derek muttered. Chris nodded, rushing them to his car, shooting three zombies on the way. He ignored the fact that Derek was naked, running barefoot. Chris opened the door for Derek, slamming it shut as he ran to the driver’s side. Once Chris was inside and turned the car on, Derek closed his eyes, letting his head lull to the side. 

“My bag is in the back, there are clothes in it,” Chris offered as he pressed the gas pedal, speeding forward, hitting zombie after zombie. They clawed at the door as he drove through the gates. Derek lowered the back of his seat, making it easier to crawl into the backseat. He opened the duffel he found, fishing out a pair of jeans. Carefully, he slipped them on, zipping them up and buttoning them before he groaned at having to use his arm. 

“Hold on until we catch up with Deaton, alright? We’ll get that bullet out of you,” Chris said as he grabbed the walkie talkie. “Deaton come in, this is Chris, do you copy?” Chris said, then waited for a response. “Deaton come in,” Chris’s voice rasped out, terror coming through momentarily. 

“This is Erica, Chris, we copy,” Chris sighed, relief showing on his face. 

“Where are you, which way did you head?” Chris asked. 

“South, back down the way we came... we don’t know where to go.” Chris looked to Derek, his eyebrows raised. 

“Did you ask Stiles?” Chris asked as Derek climbed back into the front seat with one of Chris’ shirts tied around his arm. The wound was high up on his bicep, close to his shoulder. It wouldn’t take long for the wolfsbane to get to his heart. 

“Stiles isn’t really in a state to be giving directions,” Tara’s voice came up. They were handing the walkie talkie around. Derek growled at the mention of Stiles. Chris eyed him, biting his lip.

“What about Stiles? Is he hurt?” Chris asked. 

“Tell us, Chris, did you leave Derek?” Tara asked and Chris’s eyes widened in realization. Stiles thought Derek was left for dead. 

“No, of course not, I have him, he is with me.” He waited patiently for a response, knowing whose voice would come over the walkie talkie next. 

“Derek?” Stiles voice, strained and quiet, came over the receiver. Chris handed the walkie talkie to Derek. 

“Yeah, Stiles. I’m here,” Derek said, sounding tired and relieved all at once. Like hearing Stiles’ voice made him more at ease. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, where the fuck were you?” Stiles asked, which made Chris laugh. 

“Hunters had me,” Derek said, handing Chris back the walkie talkie. Derek was worse off than he thought. 

“Hey, Stiles, it’s Chris. Derek was hit with a wolfsbane bullet, we need to stop as soon as it is safe to get Deaton to get it out of him.”

“Do you have the anecdote bullet?” Stiles asked. 

“I have a wolfsbane bullet, I don’t know if it is the same kind that they use, but...”

“Alright, it is worth a shot,” Stiles whispered. “Deaton said he is going to pull over at the next exit, whatever it is. I will let you know the exit number as soon as we pull up to it.”

“Copy that,” Chris said, then put the walkie talkie down. He and Derek remained silent for the remainder of the ride. 

 

Once Deaton stopped the RV, Stiles got off of it, busting the door open, bat in hand, walking a small ways away from the parked vehicle. He covered his mouth as he walked towards a line of trees, his eyes scanning their surroundings. It seemed peaceful, safe. He knew there was no such thing, no such place. 

At least Derek was alive, for now. The wolfsbane bullet could kill him, though. It made Stiles laugh. The laugh was bitter, dry, angry. If they survived this long only to have Derek die by a hunter’s hands, Stiles was going to go insane. The bat hung limply by his side, his grip on it was relaxed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He heard footsteps approaching, but he didn’t turn to see who it was. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, with his regrets. 

Stiles saw Erica out of the corner of his eye and sighed. He felt so tired, spread thin. The mere thought of Derek dying from a bullet wound was ripping in half from the inside out. 

“It’ll work,” Erica whispered. “Like that time you told me-”

“That was an Argent bullet, though,” Stiles said, his voice clipped. “This is a bastard Bishop bullet. I hope he fucking died, that fucking piece of-” Stiles stopped mid sentence because Chris’ vehicle pulled up. Before he knew it, he was running towards them. Derek was helped out of the car by Chris and Stiles all but shoved him out of the way to wrap his arms around Derek who immediately rested his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Stiles managed to say, his fingers raking through Derek’s hair as he held back his emotions, his voice wavering. Derek scoffed, his mouth pressed against Stiles’ neck, his hands gripping Stiles’ side. Stiles was holding Derek upright. “I didn’t-”

“We need to get him inside,” Chris said, interrupting them. “He got hit high on his arm, it won’t take long for it to travel to his heart.” Stiles and Chris helped Derek into the RV where Tara and Dr. Deaton were waiting. Chris gave Erica a look and suddenly Stiles was being pulled out of the RV, his eyes wide with anger as he pushed at Erica. 

“Let go, I have to be in there with him!” Stiles screamed. “I am not going to be out here if he dies, I’m not. You aren’t protecting me by pulling me away,” he hissed. Erica let go of him and let him stalk back into the RV. Stiles walked in just in time for the flamed bullet powder to be spread on the wound, Deaton’s fingers ready to extract it. Stiles stilled as he watched, holding his breath. Derek’s eyes were closed and he was panting, sweat covered his brow. The dark, poisoned veins were apparent, scrolling up his arm and shoulder. Stiles’ lip twitched as Deaton pulled the bullet out, placing it with his bloodied fingers onto the table. Stiles waited, unmoving, as he watched Derek’s arm, remembering how quick he had healed last time. 

Nothing was changing, the wound wasn’t closing. Stiles felt like his heart stopped beating as he rushed forward, moving Chris out of the way, his hands cupping Derek’s face, bringing him around. 

“Derek-” Stiles said in a choked sob. “Derek, your arm...” Derek opened his eyes and looked up at Stiles, his lips parted as he breathed slowly. Stiles’ thumb played across Derek’s cracked lips as his palms spread across his cheeks. Stiles raked his teeth over his top lip, grimacing at how pale Derek looked. “Don’t leave me here alone,” Stiles whispered, not caring that he was surrounded by the Argents, Erica, along with Deaton and Tara. If Derek died he would be alone, it would be just one more thing, one more person he lost. He was the weak one, the human with no real skills. He was supposed to be the one who died, not anyone else. Stiles held in a sob as Derek’s eyes closed, his breathing becoming shallow. Stiles’ lip trembled as he shook Derek, bringing him back to consciousness. “I fucking love you don’t do this to me you piece of shit, Derek!” 

Everyone was silent around him, as he fell to his knees, his hands sliding from Derek’s face, grasping at his jeans, his head in Derek’s lap, cheek pressed against his thigh. Stiles couldn’t think at all, his mind was full of how nothing would be worth it if Derek died. He was tired of fighting and he had only held on because of Derek if Derek- 

Erica gasped and it brought Stiles out of his mental anguish long enough to feel Derek’s hand on his head, to look at his arm, the blackened veins slowly dissipating, the wound was closing up and Derek had his eyes open, looking down at Stiles. 

“Thank god,” Erica whispered, her hand resting on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles laughed as he scrambled to his feet, his hands on Derek’s chest, his arms, his face, in his hair. He was healing. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Derek rasped, his voice wrecked. Stiles smiled, leaning over and capturing Derek’s lips with his. 

They were going to be okay, somehow. They would fight as long as possible, continue to search for a sanctuary. They had no other choice but to push on and Stiles knew as long as he had Derek, he would be strong enough to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ▷ This fic wouldn't have been possible without lsdme/robotlauren. Having someone to shout I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS at was very, very helpful (especially because you shouted THERE ARE FEELINGS HERE back at me. Especially about Chris Argent. Thanks for giving me a Chris kink.) 
> 
> ▷ Foreverblue-navy had asked me what I had been listening to while writing this fic and originally I told her that I hadn't listened to anything but I am changing that answer to _It's Frightening_ by White Rabbits (the entire album). Because for some reason that entire album screams STILES to me. 
> 
> ▷ Thank you, thank you, thanks you for giving this fic a chance. I have never really wrote in this genre and I had a blast doing it. I fell in love with this Stiles and Derek and I feel as though I know them both better now, if that makes any sense. I hope you liked them just as much! 
> 
> ▷ As always, you can find me at [slipintothewater](http://slipintothewater.tumblr.com) over on tumblr!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born of one of my 'daily aus' that I write in my head while at work as a form of escapism. This is a very self indulgent fic where I make references to things for my own amusement. That being said, I hope you enjoy it! This fic has brought me out of my writers block and even though my real life may be a mess, I am glad that I can let go and decompress by writing.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] In This Twilight How Dare You Speak of Grace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176264) by [thegraceofdarkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraceofdarkness/pseuds/thegraceofdarkness)




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